


The Beauty of Stars

by Akikofuma



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: !Creature Jaskier, Anal Sex, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Breeding Kink, Come Inflation, Come Marking, Dirty Talk, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Geralt learns to Use His Words, Hybrids, Jaskier is the sweetest, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, No actual mpreg, Rimming, Self Loathing, Self-Lubrication, Semi-Canon Compliant, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, fix it sort of, lots of feels, more tags to come, sort of slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 70,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24440851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akikofuma/pseuds/Akikofuma
Summary: Ten years had gone by since Geralt last saw Jaskier. Ten years since he'd yelled at the bard and chased him away. Years spent filled with guilt. Until one day, Geralt came face to face with his bard; or what his bard had become.Or: Geralt stumbles over Jaskier in the middle of the wood, confused why suddenly the bard has horns, claws, and massive wings.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1090
Kudos: 2181
Collections: Alphabet Soup, Don't Wanna Get Rid Of You, Flap Flap Bitches, Geralt is Sorry, Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ..I couldn't help myself. I'm sorry. I needed to write more!  
> This idea has actually been spooking around my brain for a while now, so I figured I'd jot it down and see how it goes. I hope you guys enjoy it!

“Witcher! Sir Witcher, please!”

Geralt sighed. He’d barely made it into the small town, and already he was being flagged down. He was tired, damn it, had just spent two weeks traveling along bleak, forsaken roads with little to no sleep. He wanted nothing more than a bed and a warm meal to rest his wary limbs. But it seemed he wasn’t allowed such comforts, not this day.

He turned, focusing his gaze on the man running towards him, red in the face and sweating. He was in his 50s, Geralt guessed, heavily overweight, more waddling than he was running. His clothes were clean, of finer material than the Witcher would have expected from a village this side.

“What?” He growled, sounding a bit more unfriendly than he’d perhaps intended, but fuck it. It’d been a long day.

“My wife!” The man wailed, breathing heavily, almost doubling over. “Oh, some rotten beast swooped from the sky and took her! Grabbed her with its wicked claws and made off with her towards the forest! Please, you must save her!”

A flying beast, large enough to carry a grown human. Too many options, he’d need more information.

“When did this happen?” He asked as he dismounted, holding Roach by the reigns. If they were to take a contract this evening, it was best to rest her now. “And what did the beast look like?”

“Just hours ago, Sir Witcher! Destiny has brought you here, I have no doubt of it!” The man cried, seemingly having caught his breath. Geralt cringed at both the words spoken, and the volume they were spoken with.

“What did it look like?” He asked again, trying to remain calm, when all he wanted was to shake the man violently until he got what he needed. “Did it have Scales? Fur? Two legs, or four? The wings, were they made of skin or feathers?”

“T-Two legs.” The man quickly replied. “It looked like a man, if it hadn’t been for the claws, and the- the _wings_ on its back! It had skin, like you and I. The only hair I saw was on its head! Its wings were feathered. And it had horns! Big, curled horns on its head!”

A humanoid with wings. Geralts brow furrowed. Sirens had the upper body of a human, but their lower body was very much a scaly, silver tail. Not to mention that they were far from any waters Sirens, and Lamias for that matter, favored. They hunted in packs, too. He’d never heard of a singular Siren so far inland, simply scooping up a human and taking off.

“Hmm.”

It wasn’t like any monster he’d heard of, much less fought. A difficult job,  then. He’d have to make sure he was well paid. 

“You realize your wife may be dead.” He said evenly, quirking a brow at the man. “Monsters don’t usually hold on to their prey.”

“Then bring back her body, I beg ye, Sir Witcher! So I may bury her properly, not have her rotting away somewhere.”

“You’ll have to pay.” He finally grunted. If he was to go up against an unknown threat, even just to recover the corpse, the coin would have to cover the risk. “Not little, either.”

“300 coin, if you bring back her corpse. 500 if you bring her alive.” The man wrung his hands, pleadingly gazing up at Geralt. “Its all I can offer. Please, Sir Witcher. Have mercy on an old man!”

It wasn’t an amount to be scoffed at, especially with his coin running dangerously low. It’d afford him a good amount of food, and a room in a nicer inn.

“Agreed. Show me where she was taken.”

* * *

Geralt examined the garden he’d been lead to carefully.

The ground was dry, the height of summer having burned the moisture out of it days ago. The flowers, however, had been meticulously tended. The man’s wife had a passion for them, then.

He observed multiple trails, all of them coming from humans, trailing across it. The slightly smaller tracks were that of the wife, no doubt. But none of the monster that had taken her, as he’d expected. Geralt stood, tilted his head upwards and sniffed.

The usual scents of a village. Sweat, horses, hay, piss and shit; all mixed with the scent of the flowers.

“You’ve noticed nothing unusual?” He questioned the man, moving along the rows of flowers, examining each carefully. A broken stem, or a crushed petal could be a hint, though to what, Geralt wouldn’t know just yet. “Did your wife act oddly? Maybe say anything about seeing something strange while out in the garden?”

“Not a word.” The man replied. “She tended the garden as she always did, early in the morn’, and again in the eve’. No one else has seen the beast before, neither. If they had, surely we’d have heard of it before it took her.”

“Hmm.”

So this beast had come without warning, without stalking its prey. Geralt surveyed the area. The garden was surrounded by thick, stone walls. The house was larger than the others he’d seen in the village, and built more sturdy. The woman couldn’t have been the easiest target, not by a long shot. So why had it taken her?

“She did sometimes go into the forest.” The man added, almost as an afterthought. “She’s pick mushrooms and herbs, for teas and our meals. But even then, she never returned with a scratch on her, nor did she tell me about anything noteworthy.”

Perhaps the beast had stalked her in the woods, then. But even so; it didn’t quite add up. Not the beats behavior, nor its choice of victim.

Something was decidedly  _off_ .

“Which way did fly?” 

There was no use. Geralt would simply have to walk into the direction his was shown, and hope the beast hadn’t gone too far. Or, at least, left some sort of  _trail_ . 

“Straight into the forest, Sir Witcher! Right ahead!”

And so, his hunt began.

* * *

After hours of walking, examining the ground, and scenting the air, Geralt was ready to give up. There hadn’t been a single sign that the beats had landed, no scent of blood or torn bowels. The forest was quiet, serene almost.

How far could this thing travel with a struggling human in its claws? It hadn’t killed the wife before grabbing her, or he’d have seen evidence of that in the garden. Whatever it was, it had to be strong.

Just a little longer, and he’d turn back. Tell the man he’d been unable to find his wife, dead or alive, then spend the rest of his coin on a room and ale. He could hunt for his dinner on the way back.

He’d just about had enough when suddenly, the trees gave way to a clearing. A small stream cut its way through the grass in lazy turns. At least he’d be able to quench his thirst before he made back to the village, as well as give Roach a few moments to rest and drink herself.

Ever watchful, Geralt moved towards the water, leading Roach behind him. He’d barely taken two steps before his medallion started to vibrate against his chest.

“ _Fuck_.” 

Before he could so much as make a move for his sword, he was being flung to the ground, pinned into the dirt. The beast had moved with such speed, even Geralt hadn’t been able to see it move. How he hadn’t caught its scent at least, he’d have to ponder on when he wasn’t currently neck deep in shit.

He expected another blow, perhaps to his head, or throat. A snarl, or growl, or hiss. Waited for the pain of a fang or claw sunk deeply into his chest.

Nothing happened.

“.. _Geralt_?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd a second chapter, cause this story gripped me and isn't letting me go. Enjoy!

“ _Geralt_?”

That voice. He’d heard that voice before, a million times. Had heard it sing songs and prattle on about things Geralt didn’t care about. And even after a decade of separation, he’d still have picked it out easily from a hundred overlapping voices.

It was _impossible_. Whatever beast this was, it had to possess the skills to read minds, and mimic voices. Because the owner of that voice was very much _human_. 

His eyes flew open, and there it was.

The face of Jaskier. Blue eyes, framed by long, black lashes. Fine features, almost  _feminine_ , with lush, well formed lips slightly agape. If it hadn’t been for the black, curling horns on its head, and the massive, equally black wings on its back- it could’ve been the bard. 

But it wasn’t. It  _couldn’t_ be. 

The beasts grip on the Witcher slackened, just a little, and that was Geralts chance. He wouldn’t be lulled into whatever trap the beast way laying, and with as swift a motion as he could muster, he punched the thing straight in the face.

“ _OW_!” Not-Jaskier howled, clutching its nose as it scampered backwards, wings flapping gracelessly, the rustling of feathers the only other thing to be heard, aside of Geralts breathing. He jumped to his feet, grabbing for his sword, fully intending to end this creatures existence. How _dare_ it assume Jaskiers form, pretend to be the one human that hadn’t treated the Witcher like just another _monster_ \- rage rushed through his veins as surely as blood. “Geralt, what the _fuck_ -”

“You won’t fool me, monster.” He growled, widening his stance, planting his feet for the next attack. Once it realized he was not to be fooled, it would revert to its true form, no doubt, and attack once more. This time, he’d be ready. 

“I’m not a monster!” The thing wailed, still clutching at its nose, eyes wide and frightened, dressed in nothing but a tattered pair of breeches. “I mean- I know I’m not human but I’m not- I didn’t hurt anyone!”

“ _Liar!_ ” Geralt roared, taking a step closer, a careless, even _stupid,_ move. The monster was baiting him, and it was working. All of it because it had assumed the form of the bard he’d wronged so profoundly, all those years ago. 

“I’m not _lying,_ Geralt please, you have to believe me!” He watched it scramble to its feet, hands raised before it; showing off its claws, long and razor sharp, its wings fluttering anxiously. “Please, just put down your sword, I don’t want to fight. I don’t _want_ to _hurt_ you.”

“Jaskier is a human.” Geralt growled, not lowering his weapon even an inch. “You are not.”

“I don’t know what happened to me Geralt! Please _listen_ to me!” It was pleading with him now, its eyes flickering from the tip of his sword to Geralts face, taking another step back. “I just- one night, after the mountain. I was sleeping in the forest and I- I _turned_. It was awful, hurt like nothing I’ve experienced. And mind you, I’d just had my heart broken by you!”

“How are you doing this?” Geralt snarled, taking a step to the side, looking for a good angle of attack. “Are you reading my mind? My memory?”

“I’m not reading _anything_ , I was there you great oaf!” It crossed its arms over his chest, now looking less afraid, and more irritated. “You yelled at me after that- that _she-devil_ left you! I was trying to be a good friend, and you completely _lost it._ It was horribly unfair, and quite uncalled for, may I add!”

Geralt hesitated. The way it spoke, its expression- gods, the similarities were uncanny. But this- it  _couldn’t_ be Jaskier.. 

“..Lets say I believe you.” He ground out, every instinct in his body screaming at him to surge forwards, to cut it open and _bleed_ it. But if it was Jaskier- “The woman. Why’d you take her.”

“Because she asked me to.” He huffed, giving Geralt a rather indignant glare. “Her husband was a mindless brute. Drank too much, and beat her at every turn. She saw me one day, while out gathering those little brown mushrooms. She was scared first, too. But when I didn’t hurt her, we- well, we became _friends_.” 

“Friends.” Geralt echoed, flatly.

“Yes, _friends_ , dear Witcher! I know, the concept is completely lost on you!” It moved, turning its back to Geralt, left itself wide open for an attack. As careless with its life as Jaskier had been. “She was kind to me. And let me tell you, after 10 years of living alone in the woods, too scared to seek out people; with nothing but animals to keep me company- it was a nice change. So when she asked me to free her from that- that _asshole,_ I couldn’t say no.”

“If she wanted to leave, why didn’t she just run away?”

“Because that bastard would’ve followed her to the end of the continent.” Massive wings fluttered, rose high above the mans head, trembling with its irritation. “He’d never have let her live in peace. So we came up with a plan. I’d wait until he was in the garden with her, fly close enough to give him a good look, and carry her into the woods. She gave me a bag of supplies and cloak to hide away, and give back to her after we escaped. I carried her as close as possible to the edge of the forest, without being seen. I wasn’t going to come back towards the village but- I was scared he’d send a search party or knights or something!”

“Or a Witcher.” Geralt said, slowly lowering his sword.

“Or a Witcher.” Jaskier agreed, looking at Geralt over his shoulders. “I had to help her, Geralt. You would have, too. For all you talk about not wanting to get involved, you _always_ do.” 

“..It really is you.” Geralt breathed, still not quite able to believe it. “Fuck, Jaskier. Just- _fuck_. Why didn’t you come find me after you- _turned_?”

Jaskier scoffed, moving to sit down beside the stream, idly dipping his naked feet into the water.

“Have you hit your head by chance?” He asked, his tone derisive. “Because if I recall correctly, you said, and I quote: “ _If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!_ _”_ Why would I think you’d help me after _that_ _?”_

Geralt winced. Right. 

“Jaskier-” He started, grinding his teeth. “What I said- I didn’t  mean it. I would have looked for you but- so many things happened after that day. And by the time I was finally able to search for you, you’d disappeared off the face of the earth.” 

“Yes, well. Now you know why.” Jaskier quipped, only to sigh, wings lowering slowly. “It was horrible. Turning into- well, whatever I am, all alone. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do, or who to turn to. I knew enough of the world to know that I couldn’t just stroll into a city and look for a mage so I just- didn’t. I stayed in the forest.  Avoided any travelers coming through. Anna- that woman you’re looking for- she was the first person I’ve spoken to in  years .” 

Geralt approached, sitting down beside the bard, still wary, but not of the claws and wings as before.

“I’m sorry Jaskier. I treated you badly. That day, and many before.” He admitted, keeping his eyes fixed on the flowing water before him. “You didn’t deserve any of it. I was a fool to push you away.”

“No, I didn’t.” Jaskier agreed, glancing at Geralt from the corner of his eyes. “But thank you, for apologizing. I never thought I’d see you again, to be honest. Much less that I’d get an actual apology out of you.”

“It was long overdue.” Geralt hummed, watching Roach lower her head to the water and drink. “I did look for you, Jaskier. Right after the mountain, Cintra fell. I found Ciri, and I had to make sure she was safe. And then the war..”

Geralt trailed off, thinking back to those troubled times. He’d done well with Ciri, at least. He’d kept her safe, and found her the best tutor possible. Yennefer and he were never again going to be lovers, that much was certain. But they’d become friends, over the years. Forgotten the hurt they’d caused each other, and come together for the girl.

“  I understand, Geralt. I don’t blame you for not finding me.” Jaskier sighed once more, his wings fluttering as he spoke. “Like I said. I’ve spent the last decade wandering the woods, only flying in the pitch of night. You showed me how people react to those that are different. I didn’t want to get killed, or-  forced  to kill others in self defense. Not that I always had a choice.”

Geralts brows furrowed, and for the first time, he realized that the bards scent wasn’t all that different from what it used to be. Only when sadness tainted it did it occur to him to scent him more carefully. Jaskier smelled of- well,  Jaskier \- but underneath his usual scent and his sorrow, Geralt picked up something else. It smelled- like  magic. He couldn’t explain it, it simply  _ did _ _ . _

“What happened?” He quietly inquired. “If you don’t want to tell me, I understand.”

“I was hunting.” Jaskier began, lowering his head as he spoke. “I was hungry, and- my senses, they’ve become much better- I was tracking a deer across the forest, and before I knew it there was a man there. A hunter. I have no idea how he crept up on me, I should’ve been able to smell him, or at least  hear him , but. It was too late. He’d caught sight of me, and then- then he just came  running  _ at me. He had a knife, and he was screaming, and I got so  _ _ scared _ -”

The former bard broke off, swallowed heavily. Grief written all across his features. It broke Geralts heart,  seeing the man so clearly upset over something that hadn’t been his fault. He’d been attacked, and defended himself. 

“I didn’t mean to kill him. I just wanted to get him  _ off _ me. So I could run away and hide. I hit him and- my claws they-” 

A sob rung through the air, and it was all Geralt could take. 

Turning to face the bard, he pulled him close, pressed him up against his chest. Large wings folding neatly against Jaskiers back as he leaned into the embrace, pressed his face against Geralt neck as he gave another sob. 

“There was blood  _ everywhere _ .” He cried, trembling like a leaf in a storm. “I- I tried to wash it off, but the scent- it stuck to me for  days . I didn’t mean to kill him, I  didn’t , it was an  _ accident _ -”

“I believe you.” Geralt soothed, rubbing along the bards side in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “I believe you Jaskier. I know you well enough to know you’d never hurt anyone, much less kill someone. Not if you were given a choice.”

The bard sniveled, rubbing his cheek against Geralts chest, practically crawling into the Witchers lap in an attempt to get closer.

“Its been so lonely.” He whispered, tears still spilling across his cheeks. “Please don’t leave me, Geralt. I don’t know how much longer I can _take_ _this_ _.”_

“  I won’t leave you, little lark.” Geralt murmured, burying his nose in the bards hair, careful to avoid the horns that now graced the bards head. “I’ll find a way to fix this. Get you back to normal. I swear it.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand we're already on chapter three! Guys, I just can't stop writing this x'D

Geralt made camp on the clearing that night. Between him and Jaskier, their enhanced senses would warn them of any danger. Though this far into the woods, Geralt didn’t expect much trouble. Not from humans, at least.

Unexpectedly, Jaskier had offered to find them dinner for the night, had practically _insisted_ on it. Geralt wondered if in this form, he could pick up on just how exhausted the Witcher was. He hadn’t thought to ask.

With roach grazing beside him, Geralt had placed his bedroll on the ground, then busied himself with making a fire. Now alone, he was given a chance to consider what had happened in the last few hours.

Jaskier wasn’t human. Might never have been to begin with. How had he never noticed? He was a Witcher, for fucks sake. Sniffing out monsters was what he had been created to do. Yet Jaskier had followed him around on and off for years, and Geralt hadn’t had a clue.

To be fair, Jaskier _himself_ hadn’t known. It did little to settle his mind.

In over a hundred years, Geralt had never seen, read, or heard about- _whatever_ Jaskier now was. The horns reminded him of a Succubus, the wings held some similarities with that of an arch griffin. The claws resembled those he’d seen on higher vampires, though Jaskiers were shorter.

A curse seemed unlikely, for they hadn’t quarreled with any mages before their trip. Yennefer excluded, but Geralt was certain she had nothing to do with this. If anything, she’d have cursed Geralt, not Jaskier.

Perhaps Jaskier was a hybrid. The result of a human breeding with some other being. But why hadn’t the bard looked like this from birth? Why had it taken 30 years for him to take on this form?

Too many questions, and not nearly enough answers for Geralts taste.

Once the bard returned, he’d have to find out more. What powers did he now possess, and how keen were his senses? How long could he fly, and when he did, how much weight could he carry? Information that might come in handy.

And speaking of the devil, Geralt had barely sat down beside the fire, that Jaskier landed on the ground a few feet away, a large buck slung over his shoulder.

“Its not spuds.” He said, bringing the animal over to Geralt. “But I think it’ll do.”

Geralt watched, somewhat surprised, as Jaskier used his claws to deftly skin and prepare the deer to be roasted above the fire. As Geralt had suspected, they were indeed incredibly sharp, slicing through muscle and even bones easily.

“You’ve gotten good at this.” He hummed as the food cooked above the fire. “You never liked preparing game.”

“Ah, yes. Well, I’d watched you do it many times and I am a quick study.” Jaskier replied, sitting down beside Geralt; much closer than they’d used to. He couldn’t fault the bard for this. Jaskier had always been a social being, with a tactile nature. Ten years alone in the wilderness, and even Geralt would find himself craving human contact. And so, he didn’t comment, allowing Jaskier the comfort of his closeness.

“Had lots of time to practice, too.” Jaskier added, giving Geralt a lopsided smile.

“Hmm.” What else was he to say to that? He’d never been good with words to begin with, and in this situation, finding the right ones seemed even harder. “Tell me about your powers.”

“Powers? Oh!” Jaskier nodded. “Well, you know I can fly. And my claws are pretty handy, too. Haven’t broken off a single time! Oh and- my teeth.” Jaskier reached for his lips, pulling the upper back, revealing sharpened canines. “Those are pretty sharp, too.”

Geralt leaned closer, inspecting the bards teeth, then nodded.

“What else? Your sense of smell, for example. Any idea how good it is?”

“Pretty good, I’d say. I caught your sense long before you came to the clearing. I just- didn’t know it was _your_ scent.” Jaskier said, sheepishly lowering his head. “Its hard to say how well I can smell. Some scents are stronger then others, and then it depends on the wind and- Well, you know all this.”

“I do.” Geralt agreed, moving forwards to turn the meat over the fire, hoping to roast it evenly. “And your hearing?”

“Too good.” Came the immediate reply. “Right after I turned, I could hear _everything_. It was all so loud. The animals around me, the insects in the ground and in the bushes. My own heartbeat. It got better with time; either I got used to it, or I learned to somehow shut it off, I’m not sure.” 

G eralt knew that feeling well. His potions served to sharpen his already heightened senses, and the sheer amount of input from the world around him rushing at him. At first, it had been disorienting. Painful. With time, he’d learned to handle it. The idea that Jaskier had gone through the same process- Geralt frowned. 

“Ah, don’t make that face, Geralt.” Jaskier teased, gently bumping his shoulder against the Witchers. “It’s not all bad. I can see in the dark now, just like you. And finding food has become much easier, too! The silver linings to becoming a monster, I suppose.”

“You’re _not_ a monster.” Geralt growled out, unreasonably agitated by the bards words. “Don’t call yourself one.”

Silence, for just a moment.

“Alright.” Jaskier carefully replied. “I was only joking, Geralt. Truly. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Hmm.” It still didn’t sit quite right with Geralt, nagging at him from the inside. The bard was the farthest thing from a monster he’d ever witnessed. Caring, thoughtful, _generous_ little lark. He couldn’t remember meeting another human being with so much love to give. Even though, admittedly, that love being given so freely had landed Jaskier in trouble more often than not. 

“You’re brooding, Geralt.” Jaskier helpfully pointed out, drawing another grunt from the Witcher. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“You don’t have a penny, Jaskier.” Geralt replied, if only to be difficult.

“No, but I did hunt you a wonderful dinner! That has to be worth something.” Despite himself, Geralt felt a smile creep onto his face.

“I’m thinking..” Geralt started, flicking his gaze to the bards face. “That we better find out what you are, and soon. There aren’t many places we can take you safely, but there are a few people we could talk to.”

“Let me guess, Yennefer is one of them.” If the bards tone hadn’t been enough to show his displeasure, his slightly soured scent would have. Geralt was well aware of Jaskiers dislike of the sorceress, but for now, she was a viable option. If only he could find her.

“Yes, she is. But there’s also Vesemir. He’s the oldest Witcher I know, and he lives at Kaer Morhen. Far from humans and their prejudice. The library there should still be in tact, so even if he can’t come up with anything, perhaps we can find something in one of the books.”

“Who are we going to visit first, then?” The bard inquired, leaning forward to sniff the food. “Its done. Take it off the fire before it burns.”

“We’ll see Vesemir first.” Geralt decided, carefully taking hold of the stick they’d speared the food onto, replacing it with a second they’d prepared. Out of habit, he held it out to the bard without thinking.

“Ah, that’s alright. You eat first.” Quirking his brow, Geralt turned to the bard, considering. He’d always been the first to eat, least Geralt have to endure his whining of hunger. But fuck, he was _starving_ , and Jaskier seemed fine. Hadn’t complained once.

“..Thank you.” Geralt couldn’t remember ever thanking the bard for anything. Another oversight he’d have to tend to in the future. Jaskier only smiled, leaning back on his hands, fingers spread wide across the grass, head tilted back to look at the sky.

“Night like this are my favorite.” He finally said, as Geralt practically devoured the food before him. “When the sky is so clear, you can see the stars for miles. Sometimes, I sit up on a mountain, or the top of the tallest tree I can find, and just.. look at them. For hours.”

Geralt, more interested in filling his empty stomach, didn’t look at the stars. But Jaskier talking was soothing, comforting, in a way he’d never realized he’d missed. In the past, his ramblings had grated on the Witchers nerves, yet now. Now it filled his chest with affection for the man.

Even after all these years, all the fear and unwanted change, Jaskier was still  _Jaskier_ . Hadn’t become jaded, as Geralt had. Still saw beauty in the simplest of things. 

For the first time in his life, Geralt thought that he had much to learn from Jaskier.

Much to learn indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I swear this is the last chapter for today. I'm not sure how often I'll update this, but I'll try to get at least two chapters a week out for you guys <3  
> Thank you guys so much for your support! It means the world to me!

Geralt woke to the chirping of birds, and the first rays of sunlight lazily filtering through the trees. Once they’d both eaten their fill, Jaskier had suggested they rest. Kaer Morhen was a long way off from where they were, according to Geralt. They’d make their way towards it in the morning.

Geralt, barely awake at this point, had not objected. He’d offered his bedroll to Jaskier, only to be denied.

_I’ve slept on worse things than soft grass, dear Witcher. I don’t mind._

And, too tired to argue, Geralt had accepted the bards words. Laid out on his bedroll, with Roach near by, he’d drifted off into sleep almost immediately. His last thoughts that of wonder, as he watched black wings settle across Jaskier like large, feathery blankets.

Blinking awake, he realized that one of those wings had somehow come to lie across him, weighing him down rather considerably. But it was warm, and soft, and he couldn’t resist basking in the unfamiliar feeling just a little longer.

Jaskier was just as he’d been the night before. Laid out beside Geralt, sprawled on his stomach, head resting on his arm. One wing tucked against his back. The very top of it inches above his head, the longest feather ending at the tips of his toes.

Geralt hadn’t taken the time to take in the sheer size of them, nor noticed their beauty. Feathers of all size, smallest towards the bards back, largest at the edges, glossy and shimmering in the morning light. His hands itched to touch, to pull off his gloves and brush along them, just to know how they’d feel against his skin.

Jaskier looked peaceful as he slumbered. Every now and then, his wings would twitch, no doubt reacting to whatever dream the bard was having. He looked so young, then. Just like he had when they first met, when Geralt had wanted nothing more than to be rid of the bard-

Oh.

It was then that he realized- Jaskier hadn’t aged. Not a single day.

How had he never noticed? When they parted ways on that blasted mountain, Jaskier had still looked the _fucking same_ , despite being close to thirty. His skin should have shown wrinkles, however subtle. Lost some of its elasticity and youthfulness. Except it _hadn’t_.

Cursing his own stupidity, Geralt forced himself to sit, careful of the wing draped across him. The movement evidently enough to rouse the bard, as blue eyes focused on the Witchers faze, dazed and half open.

“’s it morning already?”

“It is.” Geralt grunted, moving onto his feet. Jaskier made to follow suit, only to be halted. “Rest a little longer. I need to wash up, and brush down Roach before we go anywhere.”

“Don’t forget to eat.” Jaskier sleepily replied, eyes falling shut again. “I’ll know if you don’t. Meat we roasted last night should still be good.”

The bard was fast asleep before Geralt could answer.

* * *

Chores tended to, clean, and with a full stomach, they set off.

Unlike in the past, Geralt didn’t mount Roach while Jaskier walked beside her. Instead, they walked together, the Witcher leading her by the reigns.

“Its too bad I can’t carry you both.” Jaskier mentioned, pouting. “We’d cover much more ground.”

“Don’t think the humans would take kindly to seeing a flying Witcher, horse, and what carried us.” Geralt replied evenly, fighting the twitch of his lips threatening to curl into a smile.

“..Do you think we’ll see any?”

Geralt frowned. He’d meant to humor Jaskier, but had apparently only succored in frightening him.

“Not if I can help it.” He vowed, hoping to ease the bards mind. “We’ll keep away from any villages and cities. Best you only fly when you absolutely have to, though.”

“So it’ll be like the old days!” Jaskier crowed, smiling brightly at the Witcher. As if spending his days with Geralt insulting him, and pushing him around were fond memories.

“Not like then.” Geralt corrected, harsher than he’d intended. Gentling his tone, he added. “I was cruel to you, then. I don’t intend to do so now.”

“..Old age has made you soft, Geralt.” Jaskier teased, clearly amused with his own remark. He sobered then, placing his hand on Geralts shoulder, halting his movement. “Thank you Geralt. It means a lot to me. You, being kind, and everything. Actually _talking_ to me. Don’t dwell on the past, old friend. Things are better now.”

How Jaskier managed to be so _forgiving_ , would always remain a mystery to Geralt. If their roles had been reversed, Geralt would have been a lot less inclined to kindness. He had admittedly grown softer, more willing to communicate, over the years. Though he suspected it had less to do with the passage of time, than Ciri’s presence in his life. She’d changed him, and for the better. He told the bard exactly that.

“Ah, you found her then? Thats wonderful Geralt! Tell me everything!”

And so Geralt did.

* * *

Days passed with little incident. They woke early in the morning, and made camp in the evening. They took turns hunting for food, despite Jaskiers protests that he was perfectly capable of providing for them. Geralt had his damn pride.

Jaskier was still ridiculously insistent on personal hygiene, and so they stopped at every stream and river they came across, to clean their clothes and wash their bodies. Jaskier, for his part, only wore breeches these days. Anything else had become entirely impractical with his wings. He wordlessly helped with Geralts laundry, babbling on about the things he’d seen during his time alone, or singing songs, both old and new.

It wasn’t until the third day of their travels that Geralt realized what was different. Well, aside of the bards general appearance.

“Jaskier, where’s your lute?”

“Oh.” The wings, as it turned out, were a good way to gauge the bards mood. Now they were hanging limply at his sides, without the smallest twitch. “It broke. That night, I- I must have rolled onto it, or something. It was too broken to fix, I’m afraid.”

As casual as Jaskier was attempting to act, Geralt knew exactly how much the lute had meant to him. Seeing his bard like that irked him, and Geralt wondered if perhaps he could somehow procure a replacement. Tell Jaskier he needed supplies from the city, leave him safe in the woods while Geralt searched for the instrument.. but even if he’d wanted to, Geralt didn’t have nearly enough coin to buy it.

He promised himself, the next chance he got, he’d get the bard a new lute.

* * *

They made good progress, all things considered. In his new form, Jaskier hardly ever tired, capable of walking long stretches without problem. The first real sign of trouble showed up during the night.

“Geralt. Geralt, wake up!”

The Witchers eyes flew open, immediately on full alert. Jaskier was on his feet, wings flared wide, glaring into the darkness.

“Whats wrong?” Geralt asked, words spoken as quietly as possible. Jaskier would hear him.

“Heard something moving, stalking us.” Geralt growled. Sword in hand, he rose to stand behind the bard, back to back. Whatever came at them would have to chose a side to attack, leaving the other free to act.

For a long moment, silence.

And then, the sound of a twig breaking beneath something heavy. The air filled with a growl much lower than Geralts, coming from a beast at least twice their size.

“Werewolf.” He hissed, trying to locate the monster before it surged forwards. He wouldn’t have time for a potion, muss less an oil for his sword, but if he could only keep it away from Jaskier-

The werewolf launched its attack before Geralt had even finished the thought, hurtling towards them in long, even strides, gathering speed with each one; its strong legs pushing into the ground forcefully to propel itself forward.

Before Geralt could so much as move, the beast was on its back, Jaskier above it, his wings spread high and wide as he growled down at the wolf. His claws dug into its shoulder, holding its arms immobile, even as it kicked and howled in rage.

“Leave.” Jaskier snarled, feathers puffing up as he spoke. “I don’t want to kill you, but if you force me to, I will.”

The beast growled all the more, kicking and howling with rage.

“Hungry!” It spit out, lifting its large head to snap at the bard, yet unable to reach far enough. “ _Hungry!_ ”

“Plenty to eat in the woods.” Geralt snarled, moving to stand at Jaskiers side, his silver sword coming to rest against the wolfs throat, the beasts eyes rolling madly in its socket.

“Can’t, _can’t!”_ The werewolf howled, its large fangs shining in the moonlight. “Eat, I eat and – uggh- Comes back up, right back up- _always hungry!_ ”

“..Geralt?” Jaskier asked, confusion written all over his face as he turned to the Witcher.

“A curse.” The Witcher grunted, taking a closer look at the wolf. “Its been cursed to eternal hunger.”

“ _Yes!_ ” The wolf howled, throwing its head from side to side, digging its claws into the dirt, ripping the earth beneath it. “Wretched priestess, _wretched woman_ , always so _hungry!_ ”

“Geralt, I- what. What do we do?” Jaskier hissed, still holding the beast down with his claws and weight. “If he’s cursed-”

“He’s still dangerous.” Geralt grunted, utterly unwilling to remove his swords from the wolfs throat. “He’ll kill and ravage for the rest of his days. The curse is strong, even if we could cage him somehow, we don’t have time to find a way to lift it.”

“But- Geralt, we can’t just-” Jaskier argued, sitting up as his wings tucked up against his back.

“ _Kill me!”_ The beast roared, teeth bared, spit flying as it writhed. “ _Kill me, Kill me, please!_ ”

Geralt took another look at the beast. It was in a pitiful state, starved to the bone. Tormented.

“Alright. I’ll kill you, wolf.”

“Geralt, you _can’t_ -”

“We have to.” Geralt growled, cutting the bard off. “Its dangerous. If it stumbles across a human village, it’ll slaughter them all, and just keep going. It wants to die, Jaskier. This curse is torture.”

The bards scent soured, wings trembling as he stared at Geralt, then at the wolf below him.

“..You’re sure?” He asked, his voice wavering ever so slightly. “You want to die? You want us to _kill_ you?”

“ _YES!”_ The wolf howled, throwing its large head back to expose his throat. “ _Do it!”_

“Jaskier.” Geralt placed one hand on the bards shoulder, squeezed it tight. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to watch.”

After a moment of consideration, Jaskier shook his head.

“If I let go, it’ll attack.” He whispered. “Do it now. I’ll hold it.”

“Jaskier-”

“ _Geralt, please.”_ The bard pleaded. “Just _do it._ ”

The Witcher closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and turned to the beast.

“Whatever fate awaits you after death. May it be better than this.”

His sword came down against the beasts throats, swift and sure, the sound of cracking bones echoing along the trees. Blood splattering across them both as the wolf shook and twitched a second longer- then fell lifeless to the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

The incident with the werewolf left its marks.

After they’d burnt his body, Jaskier had spent hours trying to rid himself of the blood, furiously scrubbing at himself with a piece of cloth Geralt had offered him. Quietly sobbing as it did little but smear the blood around. They’d have to find a river soon.

The bard was silent the entire next day, barely replying even when asked a question. Listlessly picking at the food he’d hunted as they made camp that night. In short, Geralt was worried.

They’d done the right thing, that much he was sure of. The beast had been suffering, slowly starving to death. Had begged them to die. It was mercy, in the Witchers mind, and nothing else.

Yet Jaskier had smelled of sorrow, even a bit of _anger_ throughout the night and following day. Now, he sat silently beside Geralt, his wings limp and lifeless at his sides, picking at a patch of dirt between the lush grass with his claw.

Geralt wanted badly to comfort the man, to ease his pain. To make it  _better_ . Alas, he had never been good at any of this, nor was he skilled at finding the fitting words for a situation like this. 

As he watched Jaskier, so clearly tortured by the events of the night, he knew he had to  _try_ .

“Jaskier.” The bard hardly reacted, aside of a twitch in his hand. “Please look at me.”

Sighing, Jaskier lifted his head, just enough to glance at the Witcher.

“I know this is.. hard for you.” Geralt began, keeping his voice soft. “Killing isn’t in your nature, it never has been. I can only- only imagine how difficult last night was for you.”

Again, Jaskier did not reply. His wings shivers, the sound of rustling feathers  eerie in the silence of dusk. Still, Geralt pressed on.

“He was suffering, Jaskier. Letting him go, risking the lives of others that couldn’t defend themselves.. he’d have killed dozens, or more, until someone stopped him. He- didn’t want that.”

Geralt sighed deeply, eyes fixed on the sword he’d been cleaning.

“It was mercy.”

“Mercy?” Jaskier echoed, hollowly. “You call _that_ mercy?” 

“What would you call it?” The Witcher quietly inquired.

“That- that was- we _murdered_ a man. A cursed man!” In a movement too fast for Geralt to see, Jaskier was on his feet, wings twitching and trembling in his anger. “A curse we might have been able to _break!_ You said yourself he didn’t _want_ to kill. There was still good left in him, something human, and we _killed him!_ ” 

“Jaskier-”

“ _No!_ Don’t- just _don’t_ , Geralt! I can’t- I know he wanted to die, I know he was dangerous, but- _I’m_ dangerous. _I’ve_ killed a man. Yet you didn’t kill me, you’re helping me, how- how do you do it? How do you decide to _save_ me, and- and _kill_ that man, and call it _mercy_?!”

“You’re trying to compare two completely different situations, Jaskier.” Geralt growled, putting his sword aside as he rose from the ground. “You’re dangerous, but you have _control_ over yourself. You’ll never attack an entire village trying to sate a hunger you _cannot_ sate. You won’t _kill_ unless you are forced to. You’re dangerous, yes. But so am I. How many monsters have I killed? How many men have I put to the sword, defending my own life? Should I be executed?”

“ _No!_ ” Jaskier whimpered, shaking his head almost violently. “Its different, _you’re_ different! You- you let monsters go if you can, you don’t- _hurt_ anyone you don’t have to.”

  
“But neither do  _you_ , little lark.” Geralt replied in low tones, moving towards the troubled bard, step by step, until they were facing each other. “Jaskier, please look at me.” 

Giving a high pitched whine, the bard complied.

“Thank you.” Geralt murmured, cupping the bards cheek in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. This close, the Witcher could inhale the bards scent deeply, catch every note, every emotion his companion was feeling. “You’re not a murderer, Jaskier. You never will be. The curse was too strong. By the time we found a way to lift it, if it could be lifted at all, many would have died at the wolfs hands. You know this. This was mercy. For him, and his future victims. Please believe me.”

Another whine, and without warning, Geralt had his arms full of a weeping bard. Jaskier pressed his face against the Witchers neck, sobbed into his skin, nuzzled his nose against it desperately. Clawed hands wrapped around the Witchers chest, held him tight, ever mindful of the massive claws even in his misery. Large wings shuddered, then snapped forward, enveloping them in darkness, blocking out any light the moon or stars had to offer. Even that of the fire they’d built not strong enough to penetrate the feathered cocoon.

“’m sorry.” Jaskier sniveled, holding on tight, nestling his face into the Witchers neck almost forcefully. “’m sorry, Geralt. You- You’re right, I know you are. I just- I feel _so much_.”

“I know.” Geralt rumbled, returning the embrace, holding the bard tight. Ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat with the man pressed so close against him, his face placed against sensitive skin, hot breath puffing, _caressing_. “You always have. You feel so much, little lark. I don’t know how you stand it.” 

Jaskier huffed a laugh, a strange sound mixed in with his sobs and hiccups.

“Mostly I cry. And write songs.” He murmured, soft lips brushing against the Witchers pulse as he spoke. Geralt urged his body to stay still. Suppressed the shiver so desperately trying to run along his spine.

“Hmm.”

They spent what could have been hours, silently holding each other, comforting each other. Truth be told, it hadn’t been an easy task for Geralt, either. He’d simply become used to these unpleasant tasks over time.

“Thank you.” Jaskier eventually whispered, pulling back. Geralts first instinct to hold tight, to _not_ let his bard _go_ , keep him safe in his arms. 

And when had he begun to think of Jaskier as  _his?_

“We should sleep.” The bard mumbled, taking hold of Geralts hand with his own, keeping his claws out of the way. Leading Geralt back to the bedroll, he waited until the Witcher had laid down, splayed out on his back.

A moment later, Jaskier was beside him, staring at Geralt. Then, shyly, he moved closer,  _closer_ , until mere inches separated them.

“Geralt- do you think- may I?” He softly asked, blue eyes wide and hopeful.

Geralt nodded, rolling onto his side.

Jaskier spooned up behind him, one wing tucked securely to his back, the other blanketing itself over them. His nose pressed up into Geralts hair, giving a pleased little rumble.

And fuck, he’d never been the little spoon before, had always refused to let himself be that vulnerable. But this was Jaskier, who cried over the death of a cursed werewolf. Who was so scared of becoming a monster himself.

“Good night, Geralt. Sweet dreams.”

And if Geralt slept better than he had in decades, wrapped up and cradled by his not-so-human bard, then no one needed to know.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh. This thing just keeps writing itself! I have so many ideas for it, its really hard to settle on what to do next.   
> For now, I went with what happens in this chapter. Heh. I do hope you guys enjoy it! Thank you so much for all your support, you guys are awesome! <3

Their journey continued on. Day after day, night after night. Moving, ever forward.

Roach trotting behind them as they ventured through the woods.

As Geralt had promised, they’d stayed far from any human settlements; as much as he could predict where they were, at least.

He hadn’t wanted to admit it the first time he checked over Roach and felt her horseshoe growing lose. The idea of leaving Jaskier behind, deep in the forest, while he and Roach traveled to the nearest village was-.. disconcerting. He’d just _found_ the bard again, and Geralt wanted little more than to remain by his side until they’d figured out just what exactly Jaskier was now.

Yet the next day, the situation had only become worse; on the third, Geralt had to admit that they needed to find a smith to replace it. Roach couldn’t continue on like this; the risk of an injury too great. Not to mention that she’d have to make it up the mountain to Kaer Morhen at some point.

To worsen the issue, Jaskier had become incredibly- _attached_ , for lack of a better word.

Ever since Geralt had allowed him to sleep beside the Witcher, Jaskier seemed _desperate_ for the smallest of contact. He’d brush his hand against Geralt as they walked beside each other. Sat as close to the Witcher as he could, their knees and legs touching as they watched the food roast above the fire. When it came time to rest, he’d give Geralt that _look_.

Eyes wide, and oh so blue; wings twitching nervously. Asking the same question, every night, without words. And each night, Geralt gave in; sometimes letting the bard curl up behind him, his back to Jaskiers chest. Others, allowing him to rest his head on Geralts chest. Each time, the wings would flutter with delight,  Jaskier would beam at him, and then resolutely push his face against Geralts neck, rubbing his cheek against the skin like an overgrown cat. Covering himself in the Witchers scent.

And  _that_ brought on all kinds of feelings Geralt would have happily ignored.

Their mixed scent called to him like a banquet to a starving man. Filled his chest with pride, and possessiveness. Jaskier smelled like  _his_ . Anyone with heightened senses would pick up on it, and assume they were-  _together_ .

Except their  _weren’t_ .

Which prompted a desire Geralt had never experienced before, a  _longing_ so strong he could barely contain it. Had anyone told him when he’d first met the bard, that Geralt would desire being with him, he’d have killed them right there and then. Well, maybe not  _killed_ them. But he’d certainly never have believed it. 

Now he was left to wonder; had he always felt this way? Had he been too stubborn, too- what had Yen called it? -  _Emotionally constipated_ ? 

Or had these feelings come about after he’d met the bard again, shifted into this strange creature, this wondrous,  _beautiful_ thing with wings that Geralt itched to curl his fingers into, see if they felt as  _good_ as he imagined. A creature that was stronger,  _faster_ than Geralt; that didn’t age and could very much protect itself. 

And if  _that_ was what had stirred his desire.. Did he truly feel for  _Jaskier_ , or simply the being he’d become?

Too many problems all at once; none he could solve easily. Par the course for his life, really.

“You’re brooding again.” Jaskier said, offering a lopsided grin. “What about, dear Witcher?”

“Roach needs a new shoe.” Geralt grunted, nodding towards the horse. “She’s about to throw one. Might even have to replace them all, just to be safe.”

“Oh.” Jaskiers smile slid off his face, brows furrowing. “You’ll need a smith, then. And coin. So a contract, too.”

“Hmm.” Geralt hummed. He didn’t like the idea any more than the bard did. Finding a contract that paid enough could take a while, and they’d still have to go through the entire process of having Roach’s shoes replaced. A week if they were lucky. Longer if they weren’t. 

“That- could take some time.” Jaskier sighed, his wings curling in around him until they almost completely obscured the bard; like a child wrapping itself in its blanket to hide. 

“It could.” Geralt agreed sourly. “Have to find a village or city to begin with. Then hope they have a monster problem.”

“Hope they actually _pay_ you, and don’t try to run you out of town instead.” Jaskier added, darkly. “I- You know I can’t go with you, Geralt. If anyone saw me..” 

Wings shivering, they curled around him tighter; the stench of fear invading the air, blocking out even the scent of the rabbits they were cooking. 

“I know.” Geralt replied, watching every feather on massive wings trembling at the very _thought_ of being discovered. “I know.”

At a loss for words, and quite frankly rather unhappy with the bard hiding himself away, Geralt stood, circled the bard until he found an opening to the rounded wings, coming to kneel before the bard. 

Jaskier looked miserable, eyes lowered to the ground, hands lying limp in his lap. It was painful to see him this way; made Geralts heart ache and his chest tighten. He’d do anything to make it better, anything at all. But they didn’t have a choice.

“I’ll come back.” He promised, quietly. “Do my best to be quick about it.”

“What if you get hurt? What if they find me, somehow, before you get back?” The bard asked, lower lip quivering. “I don’t- Geralt, I wouldn’t know what to do if something happened to you and I couldn’t- I couldn’t _protect_ you.”

Geralt almost snorted. How much their relationship had changed. 

Only a decade ago, it had been Geralts job to keep Jaskier safe. Now, the bard considered it his duty to protect Geralt; protect a Witcher that had lived for more than a hundred years. The notion was, if nothing else, somewhat humorous. 

“I can take care of myself, little lark.” He hummed, placing his hand against the bards knee. 

“You can. But you don’t _have_ to. Not anymore.” Finally meeting Geralts eye, Jaskier look- well, he seemed to be _pouting_. “I can help now, too. I’m not a human anymore, if I ever was one to begin with. I’m not _useless_ anymore.”

Geralts mood immediately shifted.

“You were _never_ anything of the likes, bard.” He growled, teeth bared and eyes narrowed, his free hand coming up against the back of Jaskiers neck, squeezing tight. He’d meant to go on, to tell Jaskier exactly how much he’d helped over the years when something- _odd_ happened. 

The bard went still for a split second, and then completely lose. Almost toppled them both over as he slumped against Geralts chest, giving a soft keen as his cheek came to rest against the Witcher. His wings rising above its head with a soft trilling sound, again originating from Jaskier, and- puffing up considerably. A moment later, another scent filled the air, and-  _ oh _ .

The scent of strawberries, of the forest itself, of the sun and a dozen other wonderful things flooded the Witchers senses. Called him forward, pulled him in. He’d moved before he was aware of it, wrapping his arms around the bard and pulling him close; nosing at his neck, his cheek, his hair- anything to get _more_ , to breathe that scent in _deeper_.

Jaskier responded by clambering up into the Witchers lap, long legs wrapping around Geralts hips, his arms around his neck. Cooing and trilling against the Witcher as Geralt kept going, desperately seeking the origin of that particular scent, almost out of his _mind_ with need, roughened hands sliding up the bards back until he was met with soft, _slick_ feathers-

“G-Geralt, wait- _!_ ”

Geralt didn’t want to wait. He wanted  _ more _ . Driven by instinct alone to  _ take _ what he desired-

“ _Please!_ Geralt, _stop!”_

The Witcher froze. Blinked up into blue eyes as clawed hands cupped his cheeks.

“I-” He broke off, confused, shaking his head to clear some of the haze that had settled in his mind. The scent wasn’t gone, not completely. But it was no longer all consuming, mixed with fear and- something Geralt couldn’t place. “What _happened_?”

“I don’t know.” Jaskier whispered, slowly moving back and off Geralt, until he was once more sitting on the ground. “When you touched my neck I- it was like my bones melted, like I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. I can’t- I don’t know how to describe it.”

Geralt frowned, carefully examining the bard.

His cheeks a bright red, wings shivering in a way he hadn’t seen before, not quite. Claws digging into the ground like he was trying to keep himself from touching.

“That scent..” Geralt started, slowly inhaling the air around him. Barely a trace of what had drove him half mad. Jaskier swallowed, a clawed hand quickly moving to cover-

“Oh.” Geralt said, dumbly. Realization hitting him in the head so hard it was almost physically painful. “Hmm.”

“I’m sorry!” Jaskier blurted out, mortified. “I’m so sorry Geralt, I- when you touched my neck, I- This has _never_ happened before, I _swear_ it!”

“That scent, you’ve never- hm. It’s never been like this?” Geralt questioned, carefully.

“ _No!_ ” Shaking his head almost violently, Jaskier continued. “Of course I- I haven’t _been_ with anyone since- but wouldn’t it- when I touch myself?”

With the bard clearly frazzled, it was on Geralt to try and make sense of what had happened. As much as was possible. 

“Hmm. Its possible that you’re- your body- is somehow able to create a scent that would _appeal_ to your partner.” He speculated, carefully avoiding letting his gaze drift back down between the bards legs. The poor man was going through enough without Geralt ogling him. “Make them more.. _receptive_.”

“Do you- I mean, this is just-” Jaskier stopped, eyes clenched shut as he began again. “Could I use this to make someone- against their will?” 

“Hmm.” A valid question. Was that what had happened? Had the scent alone beckoned Geralt in? _No_. No, these feelings he’s had for the bard, _whatever_ they were, _wherever_ they came from- they’d _been_ there for a while. “I don’t think so.”

“A-are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I believe when you experience arousal, while with a partner- your body wants to appeal to them as much as possible. After all, you didn’t smell like this before, not until I touched your neck. Whatever happened, _that_ triggered it. And more importantly, when you told me to stop, I _did_.” 

“Oh.” Jaskier, now seemingly settled, moved the hand he’d been shielding himself with to the back of his neck. “It- doesn’t do anything when I touch it.”

“Perhaps it has to be someone else. You said before when you-” Geralt quirked a brow, motioning vaguely at the bards lower body “-pleasured yourself, it didn’t happen. Could be its some sort of mating scent that gets released when you’re aroused.”

“Wonderful. Another thing to add to the list of strange things I can now apparently just _do_.” Jaskier grumbled, wings giving an irritated flap. “I can’t believe it.”

“The more we know, the better.” Geralt hummed, turning back to the fire, suddenly desperate to change the topic as something dawned upon him. Jaskier hadn’t made the connection that Geralt, in fact, had been quite _enthusiastic_ about the situation. Hadn’t recognized Geralts _desire,_ his _feelings_ , for him.

Until the Witcher had ascertained what exactly those feelings were, he greatly preferred to keep it that way.

“I’ll take Roach and find a village in the morning. You’ll stay here until I come back.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so. Here's a thing guys. I know I said I'd only update twice a week, to give myself some time in between chapters. Turns out, I'm actually having a lot of fun writing this! So here's another chapter!

Ten days.

Ten sodding days, Geralt had been away.

The first two we’d spent finding a village large enough to have a smith that could get Roach her new shoes. Another two until he found a contract.

At least it had paid well. But getting there and back had taken four bloody days, as the damn Smith had kept Roach as insurance that Geralt would return, and he’d been forced to walk the entire fucking way. The fiend he’d been paid to kill had been less annoying than all the time that’d been wasted.

Finally back with the smith, and having paid the man after carefully examining Roachs hoofs, Geralt could finally be on his way back.

He’d left Jaskier alone for too fucking long. And he’d spend another two days getting back to the bard.

On the upside, all of this _had_ brought some good with it. 

Firstly, with a pouch full of coins, more than he needed for the smith, Geralt had been able to restock some of the potion ingredients he’d been running low on. The  city’s herbalist had even sold them to him for half the price. As he made his way across the market place, fully intent to make his way back to Roach, and Jaskier, as quickly as possible, his eyes had caught a shimmer of blue. Stepping closer to the stall, he caught sight of chemises, breeches and other clothing, all in vivid colors. 

Exactly the type Jaskier had worn during their travels.

“Witcher, Sir! In need of some new clothes?” The man crowed as Geralt moved closer, examining the wares. “Do come closer! I’m sure we can find something that’ll fit you quite nicely!”

Geralt gave a vague grunt in return, trailing his gaze along what was offered.

“Those.” The nodded towards a pair of breeches in a vibrant blue. He’d never be caught dead wearing something so- _flamboyant_. Jaskier, on the other hand.. They looked to be the right size, though Geralt couldn’t be completely sure. He’d just have to risk it.

“Ah. Good Sir, those are indeed wonderful, but-” The merchant fidgeted, as if he expected to be struck down by the next words he’d utter. “Perhaps a bit small for your stature.”

“Not for me.” Geralt grunted, eyes narrowed. “How much?”

And so, Geralt had returned to Roach with fresh herbs and a hideous pair of pants he hoped Jaskier would like. The bards own breeches had definitely seen better days, desperately in need of replacement. Geralt had done a decent thing. He could pretend this wasn’t a gift for his friend, simply a  _necessary_ purchase. 

If the color happened to make Jaskiers eyes shine even brighter, it was simply a happy coincidence.

Roach, thankfully, walked much better with her new shoes. Geralt was pleased with the smiths work. He’d have to remember this one, if he ever needed one while in the area. Hard, these days, to find a skilled smith that didn’t charge a ridiculous amount for simple work.

Geralt wagered he could’ve cut his travel time back to Jaskier down by half a day, if it hadn’t been for the storm that had broke, just as he began his journey back to the bard.

Rain pouring down, wind hitting Geralt in the face so sharply it felt like the little droplets froze on his face. More than once he was forced to seek shelter under a large tree, if only to give Roach a rest from the blasted weather.

Which each day that had passed, Geralts worry had grown exponentially. By now, he was downright terrified of what he’d find at his return, to the point that he denied himself sleep, simply pushing forward, forward,  _forward_ . He’d get to Jaskier before the dawn of the eleventh day, if it was the last fucking thing he did. 

It wouldn’t be, of course. He’d gone without sleep for much longer, in much worse conditions. Filled with the same grim determination he’d felt during those times.

Finally, the rain stopped. Geralt was almost tempted to thank the gods.

_Almost_ .

“Almost there, girl.” He said, glancing at Roach, who gave a soft neigh as reply. “Know I’ve pushed you. You can rest when we’ve made it back to him.” 

What were only hours, now felt like days. He’d almost made it back. He’d be back with Jaskier, able to protect the bard again. Offer him the small comforts of physical touch that he seemed so desperate for.

That-  _incident_ with the bard before he left Geralt feeling a bit off kilter, the memory of his mating scent, or whatever the hell it was, a constant companion in the Witchers dreams. The way those wings had puffed up, almost as if begging to be touched-  _No._

This wasn’t a train of thought he should continue. Jaskier was his  _friend_ , for fucks sake. A friend in an incredibly difficult situation, one even Geralt hadn’t come across in his many years. The last thing Jaskier needed was to help Geralt figure out what exactly he was feeling for him. All that could wait. Would  _have_ to wait. 

At least until they’d figured a few things out.

.. Maybe not even then. 

* * *

Jaskier was unharmed when Geralt returned. Sitting on the grass, just where he’d left him, doing-  _something_ to his wings. Long claws slowly running through them, seemingly straightening them out. Then, to Geralts horror, Jaskier took hold of a single feather, and- and  _plucked_ it out, dropping it onto the floor.

“Well don’t just stand there, Geralt!” Jaskier chuckled, quirking a brow at the Witcher. “You look like you’ve had a rough few days.”

“Hmm.” Geralt grunted, leading Roach over to the bard before dismounting, leaving her to graze. They’d have to find water for her soon, but it could wait a few more hours. Long enough to allow him a short rest, and hopefully process what he’d just witnessed.

“Alright?” Geralt asked as he lowered himself to the floor, nodding at the bards wings.

“Hm? Oh, yes! Absolutely fine, Geralt.” Jaskier gave him a soft, fond smile. “They look pretty, but they’re a bitch and a half to keep in good shape. From time to time I have to- well, _groom_ them. Some feathers come lose from time to time, or get shifted to somewhere they don’t belong. A real nuisance, I tell you.” 

“Hmm.” So Jaskiers wings had to be groomed, much like those of a bird. “Does it hurt?”

“Not usually.” The bard replied, turning to offer Geralt his back. “At times, the ones closest to my back get a bit ruffled, and it’s hard to get to them. Aside of that, its merely a bit uncomfortable when I haven’t tended to them for a while.”

Once again facing Geralt, the bard shrugged, his wings fluttering with the movement.

“I’m glad you’re back.” The bard said, still giving Geralt that too perfect smile. “I’ve missed you.”

Geralt wanted to say many things in reply. Things like _I’ve missed you too;_ and _I hated being away for this long;_ like _I hated every second we were apart._

Except he _couldn’t_. He’d be admitting too much, asking for _too much._

Jaskier had enough to deal with. He didn’t need Geralt to make things worse.

“Hmm. Took a while to find a smith, and a contract. Paid well though.”

“I’m glad to hear that!” Jaskier gave a happy little trill, a noise Geralt had still very much not become used to. Willing his foolish heart to give it a fucking rest when it skipped a beat.

Geralt grunted, getting back onto his feet, back to Roach to open her saddle bags.

“Going to get some sleep.” He rumbled, grabbing his bedroll. “Only a few hours, then we can keep going.”

“You look like you need a bit more than just a _few hours_ , Geralt, no offense. When’s the last time you slept? Or eaten? Maybe I should hunt while you slee- Geralt, whats that?”

_Fuck_.

He hadn’t meant to give Jaskier his gift- no, his completely _necessary_ replacement- until he’d slept. But the little lark had caught a glimpse of the bright blue, and ever curious, approached Geralt.

“Its for you.” Geralt huffed, defeated. Better to get it over with quickly. He pulled the breeches from his pack, tossing them at the bard. Jaskier, of course, caught them easily. Stared down at the fabric in his hands, careful not to rip it with his claws.

“..These are- Geralt, they’re _wonderful_!” The man cooed, bringing the breeches up against his face, rubbing his cheek against the material. “Oh. Oh they’re so _soft_. Where’d you even get these?”

“In the city.” Geralt replied, spreading out the bedroll, resolutely keeping his back to the bard. “Yours are likely to fall off you any day now.”

When he got no reply, Geralt turned, wondering if perhaps he’d said something wrong- only to be greeted by the bards insufferably gentle smile. Like he’d seen straight through the Witcher, and recognized this gesture for what it _truly_ was.

“Geralt-”

“Don’t you dare, bard.” Geralt cut in, give an irritated little growl. “Just. Let me sleep.”

“Of course.” Geralt nodded, and laid himself down. The sounds of clothing being stripped off and being replaced, and then footsteps on soft, wet grass. The rustling of wings that accompanied the bards every movement now.

“Truth be told, I uh-. I haven’t been able to sleep well either, since you left.” Jaskier started, coming to a halt a few inches behind Geralt. “I was worried about you, and- well, you _were_ gone for _quite_ a long time-”

Geralt sighed, if only to keep up pretenses. To not show just how much he wanted what Jaskier was about to ask for. How he’d yearned to feel the bards lithe form beside him, to be covered by his wing like the worlds most comfortable blanket.

He just couldn’t afford to let Jaskier know. Couldn’t burden the bard any more.

“Come here.” He rumbled, turning to lay on his back, one arm extended towards the bard. Maybe if he just pretended hard enough that this was solely for Jaskier’s benefit, he himself would start believing it.

With a delighted coo, Jaskier immediately complied, curling up against the Witchers side, his head pillowed on Geralts chest. One hand coming to rest on Geralts stomach – _too close_ to where he really wanted it _–_ the other sandwiched between their bodies. Rubbing his cheek against the rough fabric of his black shirt like it was pure fucking silk.

“Sleep.” Geralt commanded, forcing his eyes shut as Jaskiers wing extended, blanketing itself over them.

“Geralt?” Geralt grunted in reply. “..Thank you. For everything.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the new chapter! Yay!  
> Unfortunately, I wont be able to write for the next couple days, as somethings come up in real life that will need all my attention and time. I am so sorry guys Dx I do hope to update again sometime next week! Please forgive me!

A few days after Geralts return, Jaskier seemed decidedly off.

His wings kept twitching as if they had developed a life of their own, no matter what the situation. Whether they ate, or traveled or slept, the twitch was their steady companion. 

At first, Geralt had attributed it to Jaskiers emotions; whatever those emotions  _were_ , exactly. The Witcher had taken to firmly ignoring his own; the less he thought about them, the sooner they would surly fade. 

So when he’d noticed the twitching, Geralt had ignored it. Carried on. It would sort itself out. 

Then came the sounds. A whine here, an unhappy trill there. Jaskier seemed almost unable to control them, shame written clearly on his face whenever Geralt quirked a brow at him, a silent question. The only reply he received was a sheepish smile and a shrug. 

So the bard obviously didn’t want to discuss it. Geralt wasn’t a stranger to avoiding conversations he had no desire in having, and so he let that slide, too. Jaskier would work it out in his own time. 

That was, until Geralt had woken this morning, cold and alone.

It snapped him awake forcefully, scanning the immediate area around him. Where was Jaskier? Had something happened? His bard hadn’t left their bedroll before Geralt since they’d met again that day in the woods. It was so out of character, in fact, that the Witcher felt his heart sink.

Something was  _wrong._

Geralt got on his feet, determined to find the bard, sniffing the air for a hint- ah, there. The bards scent lead him away from their camp, deeper into the woods. Not too far, but far enough that Jaskier was hidden from Geralt as he slept. 

And there the bard was, sitting on the ground, his wings twitching with such force it was almost like they were having some sort of seizure. Jaskier himself was whimpering quietly, the scent of freshly spilled tears reaching Geralt the moment the stepped close.

“Jaskier.” Geralt rumbled, circling around the man until he could face the man. “Whats going on?”

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier replied sullenly. “I- My _wings_.”

Geralt hummed his acknowledgment, but didn’t speak. If Jaskier needed time to speak, he would give him just that. 

“Its been years since I’ve gone without flying for this long.” The bard finally quietly admitted. 

“And that’s bad.” Geralt assumed, lowering himself to sit before Jaskier, legs crossed, his large hands settling on his knees. 

“Its like- Have you ever had an _itch_ you couldn’t reach, no matter what you do?” The brunette sighed, fingers twitching nervously. “Its like that. But the itch doesn’t go away on its own, it just keeps getting _stronger_.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me, bard?” Geralt asked, his expression grim. 

“Because its not _safe_.” Clearly irritated, Jaskier threw his hands up into the air. “If anyone _sees_ \- We could be close to a village, or city. There could be bandits, or soldiers, or another _hunter_ -”

“Didn’t stop you before, did it?” Geralt rumbled, nodding at the mass of feathers. “Said you used to fly at night.”

“..Its not just me anymore.” Jaskier responded softly. 

For just a moment, Geralt closed his eyes. Processed what he was being told. His bard was worried he’d get him and Roach caught in the crossfire. Was torturing himself to protect them. 

That just  _wouldn’t_ do. 

“Suns barely up.” He said, glancing at the sky. The stars were still visible, if faint. The dark of night had turned a heavy blue. Another hour, and it would be too late. “Go on.”

“I- _what_?” Jaskier stared at him, flabbergasted. “Have you lost your mind? Geralt, I _can’t_ , what if someone-”

“No one will see.” He cut the bards argument short, knowing all too well how he could work himself up when he _really_ got started. “Humans have shit eyesight. Its still dark enough. We’ll be fine.”

Jaskier looked wholly unconvinced. Geralt would have to do better.

He rose, offering his hand to the bard. Tentatively, Jaskier accepted it, letting himself be pulled up onto his feet. 

“You can’t keep going like this.” Geralt firmly stated. “You need to fly, and now is as good a time as any. We haven’t heard, seen _or_ heard a human in this forest for weeks. Go on. Once you’ve gotten rid of the itch, you can find us breakfast.” 

He’d discovered that allowing Jaskier to-  _look after_ Geralt in small ways were a good motivator for the bard. He seemed to thrive on nurturing, more so than he ever had before. Geralt, for the most part, didn’t know what to do with that most days. 

A part of him wanted to protest and stop the brunette. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.  _He_ was the one that protected Jaskier, that  _provided_ for him. Kept him  _safe_ .

Another part, one Geralt had never known he possessed, almost  _preened_ at the attention. Felt comforted and desired; felt  _cared_ for. And not only that, but that he was  _worth_ being looked after. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had gone out of their way to treat him  _well._ Aside of Jaskier. 

It wasn’t an easy thing to allow. But for Jaskier, he’d do anything. Whatever he needed.

Jaskier shifted his balance from one foot to another, looked up at the sky, then back at Geralt. Considering. 

“..Just a little.” He finally agreed. Geralt nodded, placated. A step forward was better than no progress at all. A short flight now would do. He’d persuade the bard to a longer one that night. “You’ll- wait here?” 

“Yes. Go on.” Geralt huffed, fighting down the amused smile threatening to grace his lips. “We don’t have all day.” 

Jaskier nodded, took a few steps back, and spread his wings, trembling with excitement. A single, forceful flap of them lifted the bard off the ground. Another, and she shot up into the sky. And Geralt-

Geralt was  _awed_ .

He’s never seen a thing so-  _graceful_ , and simultaneously  _fierce_ . He could only imagine what strength those wings held, with how much speed Jaskier could truly move; had understood that the bard had become  _dangerous_ . After witnessing this- he’d underestimated him. Jaskier was a force of nature.  _Lethal_ . 

A shiver ran along the Witchers spine, his cock twitching with interest. 

“Fuck.” He grunted, grinding his teeth, willing his body to calm before Jaskier came back and caught the scent of his arousal; least they incite another _incident_. 

If he could just convince his traitor of a body that he  _didn’t_ want that to happen again.

He was sorely tempted to turn and tuck tail; return to Roach and restart the fire. Avoid watching the bard set foot on solid ground along with another show of strength from his wings. 

Geralt stood his ground. Inhaled and exhaled deeply. Fought down the lust threatening to rise inside him. He could do it.  _He could_ .

A few minutes later, the fluttering of wings heralded Jaskiers approach. What would have gone unnoticed by a human, was clear as day to a Witcher. His bard was coming back. 

Steeling himself against the sight, Geralt set his jaw and narrowed his eyes. He’d be fine. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier whooped, flying at the Witcher arms outstretched. Geralt had a split second to realize what was about to happen- and then it had. Jaskier had pushed him over, much gentler than the Witcher had anticipated, blanketing himself above his body once they hit the ground. Like an overexcited puppy welcoming its owner home.

_Fuck_ .

“Oh, Geralt. That was _wonderful_.” Jaskier sighed dreamily, his wings fluttering with delight. “Thank you for convincing me to fly again. I feel _much_ better now.”

Geralt grunted, still slightly winded and overwhelmed by the sudden affection. The bards face was once again tucked against his neck, cooing and trilling away, like a songbird gone mad. Straddling Geralts hips, hands carefully placed aside Geralts chest, claws digging into the dirt every so slightly. 

Not good. Not good  _at all_ . 

Geralt needed to get out from under the bard, and he needed to do it  _now_ before he grew hard and revealed just how much he  _wanted_ .

“Overgrown pigeon.” He grumbled, not unkindly, gently shoving at the bards shoulder. “Thought you’d find us breakfast.” 

Jaskier, in high spirits, sat up and rolled off with a movement too fluid to be anything but magical. Grinning at Geralt wide enough to show off his sharp little canines. So obviously pleased with the world that Geralt couldn’t help but smile back. 

Gods, he was getting  _soft_ .

“Ah, yes! Before I do, do you think you could-” He motioned to his wings, his grin turning sheepish. “Some of the feathers aren’t quite right, you see. I can’t reach them so close to my back.” 

Geralt wanted to scream. His control was running thin as it was, and now he was supposed to touch the very thing he’d become so fascinated with. Bloody brilliant.

He wanted to refuse but- Jaskier needed it. Needed  _him_ .

“Turn around.” He grunted. He could get through this. He just had to be quick about it.

“Oh, thank you!” Jaskier chirped, and quickly complied. Both still seated on the ground, with the bard now turned away, Geralt hoped this process would be quick. Had to be quick or he’d lose his mind.

“The small ones.” Jaskier instructed. “They feel a bit- crooked.” 

Yes, Geralt could see the problem quite clearly. Some of the smaller feathers had been ruffled by the flight, and were now sticking at odd angles. 

“You won’t _hurt_ me Geralt, promise.” The bard prompted after a moment of the Witchers inaction. “Just comb them down with your fingers. Some might fall out, but that’s fine. They grow back quicker than weeds.” 

“Right.” Geralt huffed. Reaching out, he brushed his fingers along the feathers as he’d been told, marveling at their texture. Too softly at first, they didn’t budge. A bit more force, and still, nothing. 

“You can go harder, dear Witcher. I won’t break.” 

Geralt, grumbling below his breath, did as he was told. Much like he’d run his fingers through his own hair to keep it out of his face, and finally, the feathers complied. Laid themselves where they belonged. 

_ Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard. Think of something else.  _

Another brush of fingers, more feathers where they belonged. 

_ Drowner corpses. The smell of rotting bowls. Vesemir naked. Vesemir naked and dancing. _

On and on it went, fighting an internal battle to keep himself in check while Jaskier was blissfully unaware. 

Geralt wanted to curl his fingers into his wings and tug. Wanted to lean forward and sink his teeth into the bards bare neck, offered so enticingly. Wanted to push the bard forward, onto his hands and knees, grab him by the neck and make him go slack like he had before, press his cheek to the dirt and fucking  _ mount him- _

“Ah, thank you Geralt. That should do.” Jaskier hummed, looking at Geralt over his shoulder, brows furrowed just the slightest bit, nose twitching as if he was trying to catch a scent- 

Geralt was on his feet and retreating before another word could be uttered. Before Jaskier could catch the scent no doubt  oozing out his every pore. 

Geralt felt embarrassment, but more prevalent,  _ anger _ .

Anger at himself, for wanting these things. For not being able to control his desire.

Anger at Jaskier, for being so fucking perfect. For calling to Geralt with every movement, every word, every  _ breath _ . 

Anger at Destiny, or fate, or whatever the fuck it was that had put him in this position.  _Wanting_ so desperately, but unable to reach out and  _take_ .

Once back at the campsite, he did what he knew best. He grabbed his swords and tended to them. Forcing himself to concentrate on the task. Emptying his mind. 

This he could do. This, he could do  _well_ .

Jaskier appeared behind him a while later, half a dozen dead rabbits along with him. 

They didn’t talk as they cooked. 

For that, Geralt was grateful.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I felt bad for not updating, so I wrote this instead of sleeping. Enjoy!

Finally.

Finally, they were close.

Relief flooded Geralt like never before. Kaer Morhen was within their reach, the only obstacle the mountain they would have to climb to reach the castle.

He’d be home.

They’d find out what had happened to Jaskier. Find out what the bard had turned into, and why. Geralt allowed himself no doubt on that particular matter. Vesemir would know. _Had_ to know. 

The weeks of travel had strained the Witcher in ways he’d never experienced before. Every minute of every day, the bard called to something buried deep in Geralts chest. Something that ached to be  _closer_ to the songbird; to hold and keep and  _own_ . Every night wrapped in the bards embrace a new kind of torture Geralt hadn’t known existed. 

It was through his training, and sheer willpower alone that he hadn’t given in to his urges. Hadn’t rolled that pretty little lark onto his stomach, pulled him up by the hips and  _taken_ what he was so desperately yearning for. 

A struggle Jaskier still seemed  _blissfully_ unaware of. The only indication that he had perhaps an inkling of Geralts plight the small twitch of his nose whenever Geralt practically  _fled_ from him with excuses of hunting, or needing to wash in whatever river they’d come by. Anything to give the white wolf some much needed distance from the bards enticing being. 

Soon, it would all be over. They’d make it up the mountain, and Vesemir would set things right. Or at least tell them  _how_ to do so. Jaskier would go back to his human form; perhaps not permanently, but there had to be some sort of- of  _glamour_ , or spell to, at the very least, conceal his true nature. And then the bard would go back to what he’d always done. Live among humans, trill his little songs to them, and bed whoever struck his fancy that night.

The very thought of his lark bedding another was nauseating, but Geralt could deal with that. He rather spend the night agitated, sick to his stomach and filled with self loathing than subject Jaskier to what Geralt wanted to do to him.

Because, as time had passed, his desires, his fantasies- they’d become..  _difficult_ , at best. Downright disgusting at worst. So much so, that Geralt only hated himself more for even  _thinking_ them; much less becoming aroused by them. 

He wanted Jaskier to be  _his._

He wanted to  _bite_ , and  _claw_ , and  _mark_ his lark until there was no doubt who he belonged to. 

Wanted to  _mount_ him, every night, over and over, until they both fell asleep, sweaty and exhausted; Jaskier  _reeking_ of Geralts spend.  He’d fill him again and again, pump him full of seed until the bards stomach swelled with it, became a cute little bump, too full to take another drop. And then he’d fuck him  _again_ , just to make sure no one would mistake him for anything but  _his._

He’d kill anyone trying to take his lark from him. That dared lay a hand on Jaskier, be it a man or woman. Would fuck his bard in front of those that desired him, that eyed him hungrily, jealous and  _wanting_ . Fuck Jaskier until he knew nothing else but his Witchers name, until all he could do was scream his name in ecstasy. 

The  _ferocity_ of his desire, the single minded  _need_ , and his willingness to comply to it in these fantasies, were a scary thing. 

He’d always been willing to keep Jaskier  _safe_ . Now, he was willing to kill to stake a  _claim_ .

Any human that dared defy him would fall under his hands; stood  _no chance_ against an enraged Witcher. 

He couldn’t allow himself to lose control. Not just for the humans, but for Jaskier himself. His sweet bard would no doubt be terrified,  _disgusted_ with the brutality, the  _carnage_ Geralt would leave in his trail. 

Kaer Morhen was close.

He just had to hang on a little  _longer_ .

* * *

“We make rest here.” Geralt grunted, leading Roach to the lake at the very beginning of the trail up to Kaer Morhen. Roach needed a good rest before they made the climb. Even Geralt himself would benefit from a few hours sleep. The road upwards was tough, and dangerous. He’d need his wits about him. “We’ll leave at sunrise.”

Jaskier complied without hesitation. Helped unload the bags from Roach’s back, petting the horse as he went.

He’d always been good to Roach, even when Geralt hadn’t allowed him to touch her. Had treated her with sugar cubes and carrots whenever he thought Geralt wasn’t looking, even back when he’d been human.  _Looked_ human, at least. That alone had softened the Witchers heart to the bard in the very beginning. 

“I believe its my turn to hunt dinner.” Jaskier said, giving Geralt another obnoxiously perfect smile. “What do you think, does the lake have any fish in it? We’ve had enough deer and rabbit to last a lifetime by now.”

“Possibly. If Lambert didn’t blast them all out by now.” Geralt replied, sparing a small curl of lips that threatened to become a full blown smile at the thought of, what he considered to be, his youngest brother.

“ _Blast_ them out?” Jaskier inquired, clearly curious. His wings giving an interested twitch as he glanced at the waters surface.

“Lambert is too impatient to fish. He throws bombs into the water, and gathers up whatever floats to the surface in his boat.”

“Thats- _efficient_ , I suppose.” Jaskier commented idly, padding closer to the waters edge. “But I don’t think it’ll be necessary. What do you think, dear Witcher. A dozen would do, no? We should eat well tonight. From what you told me, the climb will be difficult.” 

_It would be, if you were still human_ ; Geralt thought to himself. Now,  _he_ was the one more likely to struggle than Jaskier. His lark could simply fly up these days; it was Geralts presence that required him to walk.

It was strange, to suddenly be the one holding another back, to slow  _their_ progress. A notion Geralt thoroughly despised. He could send Jaskier ahead, point him in the right direction and meet him in a day. It would be better that way. Jaskier would get to Vesemir sooner, and Geralt wouldn’t get distracted watching over the bard, whether he needed it or not. 

Yet the prospect of being separated from Jaskier was unbearable. What if the little lark ran- or, technically,  _flew_ \- into some kind of trouble? The lands around Kaer Morhen were wild and vast. It wasn’t unreasonable to fear a monster or two had made it their home. With so few Witchers left to patrol the area- no. It wasn’t  _safe_ .

“A dozen should do.” He hummed as he started on building a fire. “You think you can manage?”

“Can I _manage_?!” The bard parroted back, indignant. Wings flapping and puffing up as if to emphasize his words. “Truly Geralt, you could have a bit of faith after all this time.”

“I meant no offense.” Geralt immediately replied, his chest contracting painfully at the thought of upsetting the bard. He stood, and against his better judgment, stepped closer to the outraged bard. “Just to offer help.”

“Hmpf.” The bard huffed, but seemingly settled by the Witchers words. “Well. I appreciate the offer, old friend, but I’ll make do.”

“I know you will.” Geralt replied evenly, allowing himself a quirk of lips. “You’ve gotten good at hunting.”

“Ah, _now_ you’re just trying to butter me up!” Jaskier scolded, betrayed by the fond glint in his eyes, and the ways his wings perked up at the compliment. He _liked_ hearing he was good, Geralt had quickly realized, in whatever way, shape or form. It was as amusing as it was endearing. 

“Go on, bard. We don’t have all night.” Geralt turned back to the fire, if only to hide his smile.

“Very well, very well. Always so _bossy!_ ”

For a moment, there was silence, and then-

The very distinct sound of Jaskier hoisting himself up into the air. Confused, Geralt turned, brows furrowed as he watched the bard rise into the air, circling above the lake. What the fuck was the bard doing now?

He watched as Jaskier surveyed the water below a few more times and then, within the blink of an eye, dove downwards, propelling himself forward with quick, powerful snaps of his wings; wings that folded to his back the second before he hit the waters surface and then completely disappeared.

Geralt, dumbfounded, stared as the water rippled outwards from where his bard had disappeared. Startled, when a moment later, Jaskiers head popped out from under the surface, grinning widely, proudly showing off the fish speared on the claws of his right hand; three big, fat, wiggling things.

Brown locks clung to his forehead, his cheeks and neck as he swam towards Geralt, carefully plucking the fish off his claws and tossing them at the Witcher as he reached the lakes shore.

“A few more dives and we’ll be set!” He crowed, spreading his wings that shook off the water, droplets hitting Geralt in the face. “Why, Geralt, are you _impressed?_ I can’t remember ever seeing _that_ look on your face.”

Geralt was impressed, indeed. And also horribly,  _horribly_ aroused. Whatever blood had remained in his brain at the bards impressive dive had quickly traveled south at the sight of him, chest naked and breeches soaked, clinging to his legs and groin. In this very moment, Geralt couldn’t have willed his cock to remain soft if his  _life_ depended on it. 

He moved before he knew it.

Dropping the fish onto the ground, downright  _tackling_ the bard, throwing him onto the ground. 

_Claim. Mark. Breed!_

His mind screamed, and Geralt was helpless to resist. Prayed that Jaskier would defend himself if this  _ wasn’t _ what he wanted. 

“G-Geralt?” The bard stammered, eyes wide and shocked, his wings for once completely motionless. 

“ _Jaskier_.” Geralt growled in return, grinding his achingly hard cock down, down, _down;_ desperate for any friction he could get. “ _Jaskier._ ”

“Oh.” The bard sighed, eyes fluttering shut, arching his back as he wrapped his arms around the Witchers neck. “Yes. Yes, yes yes, _please_ -”

“ _Mine!_ ” Geralt snarled, shoving his face against the bards neck, crazed with need. He needed more, needed it _all, now_. He couldn’t wait a second longer, not when every inhale of the bards scent made his head spin, his skin prickle. 

“ _Yours!_ ” Jaskier whined, grabbling at Geralts shirt, sharp claws ripping it into shreds. “Please, Geralt, _Alpha_ -” 

_Alpha_ .

Geralt had never been called  _that_ , by anyone. Hadn’t even thought of it in his wildest of dreams; why would he? But now that he had-  gods above, he’d  _never_ been this turned on. Nothing compared to what he was feeling now, not even the best of fucks with Yennefer. 

Beyond words, all Geralt could do was growl, frantically grabbing the bards breeches, pulling them down as quickly as he could manage; luck the only thing that kept them from being torn.

Geralt needed to get Jaskier naked, needed to feel skin on skin,  _needed_ -

He was hit square in the face by the scent he’d only experienced once before. That had driven him to madness then, now only adding to the fire burning him from the inside out.

“ _Mine_.” He repeated as he scraped his teeth along the bards neck, calloused hands greedy to touch every inch of pale skin he could reach, _drowning_ himself in the bards scent.

It wasn’t _enough_.

Jaskier was squirming beneath him, rocking his hips and keening with pleasure, spreading his legs as wide as they’d go in this position. His wings flapping helplessly as Geralt pinned him to the ground, rutting his cock into the V of his bards hips.

“ _Fuck_ me Alpha, need you, I _need_ you, oh gods, _please!”_ Jaskier mewled, trembling as he grabbed for Geralts breeches, tugging at them desperately, the material easily falling away as it was shredded, but still _clinging_ to the Witcher form. _“Please,_ ‘m ready, I’m so _wet_ -”

Geralts mind came screeching to a halt, just long enough to think a single word.

_Impossible._

He had to know. Had to _see_.

With a tremendous amount of effort, Geralt pulled back, narrowly avoiding being cut by the bards claws as he reached out for him, seemingly desperate to pull him back. Something inside Geralt snapped, darkened. _He_ was Alpha. _He_ was in charge.

Before the bard could protest, Geralt flipped him onto his stomach, one hand flying to grab the bards hips and pull them upwards, the other coming up to grab the back of his neck firmly. The effect was immediate.

Jaskier keened, and went slack. Another burst of that heavenly scent blanketing the Witchers mind. If he’d had any hope to stop himself before, it was far gone by now.

Pulling the blue breeches the rest of the way off the bards legs, Geralt quickly realized two things. Jaskier  _was_ wet. Fluid coating the bards thighs, the skin between the curves of his ass. Dripping onto the ground. But that wasn’t the only part of him that had grown soaked with his arousal. 

The feathers right beside his back were positively sodden with-  _whatever_ Jaskiers body was producing. Puffed up in his arousal, yet somehow slicker than anything Geralt had ever witnessed. 

It shouldn’t have been possible. Jaskier was very clearly  _male_ , the flushed, rosy cock bobbing between his legs was proof of that. And yet-

Geralt was torn apart, wanting to touch and mouth at  _everything_ , all at once. Wanted to press his tongue against the bards hole and wings, find out if he tasted as  _amazing_ as he smelled. Wanted to thrust his cock into the body below until he had the bard screaming,  _speared_ open around him.  But how to  _decide_ what to do  _first?_

Jaskier made the choice for him.

“ _My wings,_ ” He cried, the feathered beauties lifting themselves towards Geralt, shaking with need. “Please, _please_ touch them, Alpha, _Alpha_ -”

Geralt obliged.

Sinking his hand into the drenched feathers, like he was intending to groom them once again, only to pull a wail of pure pleasure from the man below him. He repeated the motion, going higher, growling at just how  _ wet _ his bard was for him, how  _ needy _ .

It made him feel powerful. It made him feel  _ wanted _ .

Made him feel  _ loved _ .

Another stroke of his fingers, and the very tips of his fingers bumped into something round, slightly raised, a half inch from where wings met the bards back. Jaskiers entire body jerked, his hips bucked, his wings jerked so forcefully Geralt almost lost his grip.

_ Oh,  _ this was it. Geralt was going to come without a single touch to his cock. 

Gently pressing his thumb into the walnut sized bump caused another beautiful sound, another full body shudder- and  _ that’s _ where the wetness was coming from, more coaxed out by Geralts ministrations. 

The bard went wild beneath him, mewling and keening, rocking his hips into the ground, clawing at the dirt and grass, pulling up chunks of it as he went.

“More, more more _more_ , Alpha, _please_! Fill me, _fuck_ _me_ , _breed me_ , I need it, _need you_ -”

Had he been in his right mind, Geralt would have refused. He’d fucked men before, he knew how it was done. He’d need to prepare Jaskier with oil and fingers, stretch him out before he could even  _ think  _ about sinking into him, if he could even take Geralts entire, not inconsiderable, length. 

In his right mind, Geralt would have stopped and made sure this was  _ really _ what Jaskier wanted. 

Now, he was more beast than man. Jaskier  _ smelled _ sure; aroused and needy and fucking  _ divine _ .

There was no stopping himself.

One handed, he pulled the bards hips upwards until he was on his knees, the hand in the bards wings holding his upper body down, thumb still pressing,  _ rubbing _ against the little bump he’d discovered. 

Grabbing for his cock, Geralt hissed at the contact, quickly shoving forward, between the bards cheeks. He couldn’t focus enough to hold himself still, to find the sweet, pink hole so desperate to be filled. All he could do was hump forwards, again,  _ again _ , coating himself in the bards slick as he once more grabbed hold of his hips. 

It was maddening, the way Jaskier fucked back against him, the perfect slide between well rounded mounds, when all Geralt wanted was to thrust  _ inside, bury himself deep, fuck until he passed out _ -

The tip of his cock caught on the bards rim, and with another forceful snap of his hips, Geralt slid in. No resistance, no sounds of pain, nothing but the howls of delight from the bard as the Witchers balls slapped against skin.

“ _Mine!”_ Geralt snarled, not giving a single moment for his bard to adjust, to grow used to his massive length and girth, pulling back and thrusting back in, _hard_. 

Never before had he experienced the likes. Whatever he’d thought was  _ bliss _ , was  _ ecstasy _ before, paled in comparison. 

This was  _ everything _ .

And it was  _ his _ .

“Yours, _yours yours_ , Alpha-” Jaskier babbled, meeting each brutal thrust, each press of Geralts thumb into what had to be a gland with a litany of curses and sounds, garbled words that amounted to little more than “ _yours_ ”, “ _Alpha_ ”, “ _please_ ” and “ _more!_ ”

Geralt gave him more. Unafraid to use his strength as he would have been if his little lark hadn’t become this maddeningly perfect,  _ wanton _ being. Fucked him until the bard was shaking, tightening around his cock, strangling it like a vice.

“ _Gonna_ -” Jaskier cried, tears of overwhelming pleasure adorning his flushed cheeks. “Gonna, Gonna, _Alpha_ \- m-make me, Alpha, _make me_ -”

Mustering his entire strength, Geralt fucked in brutally hard, lowered himself down in a flash of movement, seeking out the bards neck-

And bit  _ down _ .

Jaskier froze, every muscle strung tight, trembling,  _ trembling-  _ and came.

His wings spread wide, his muscles clenched around Geralts cock, rippling along his length as if to milk him dry- a burst of  _ magic _ spreading outwards, shaking the ground and trees. 

Geralt had no chance of holding on.

With a roar, he gave a single thrust, emptying himself into his lark. Shot after shot of seed, filling him, painting him white from the inside- more than he’d ever given before, than he’d ever thought himself capable of- but with each ripple of muscles, another spurt was coaxed from him, another wave of pleasure hit him straight between the eyes.

Jaskiers own orgasm seemed to go on forever, mewling and panting into the ground as he rocked back, greedy for every drop of spend he could wring from the Witchers body.

Geralt could do nothing but allow it. Didn’t  _ want  _ to do anything else.

How much time had passed until it stopped, he didn’t know. His senses honed in on his bard, incapable of hearing, seeing, or smelling anything else. Exhausted, he used what little energy he had left to roll them onto their sides, still buried deep inside the bards willing body, vaguely thinking that he might be crushing his wings in this position.

If he was, he didn’t find out.

Within the blink of an eye, he was asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh new chapter. I'm sorry it took so long, I'm still forced to focus on real life, but I wanted to get something out there in case I needed to take a longer break. I hope you guys enjoy it!

When Geralt woke, Jaskier was still sound asleep. Curled against his chest, breathing deeply, evenly. His wing draped across them as it had been for weeks whenever they slept.

It took him a moment to remember how they’d ended up like this. Jaskier naked, the remnants of the Witchers shirt, sliced apart as it was, below them.

_Fuck_.

How had this happened? What had he _done_?

Geralt felt sick. He’d taken advantage of the bard, had thrown himself at him- and after 10 years of solitude, _of course_ Jaskier hadn’t resisted; he’d always been a social creature, thriving on attention and physical contact. How could he be asked to deny himself what he’d so dearly been missing all this time?

No, this was all on Geralt. This was _his_ fault. 

Jaskier deserved better than what Geralt could offer. Confused feelings he  had little idea to no idea where they originated from, and more importantly,  _when_ . Jaskier didn’t deserve to be loved for his wings and horns, his new abilities. He deserved to be loved for the generous, kind man he was. 

As carefully as possible, Geralt slipped from the bards grasp, taking a few steps towards the water and closing his eyes.

This couldn’t happen again. 

No matter how much Geralt wanted, how strong the pull he felt became- Jaskier was his friend. He wasn’t going to dishonor their bond with his tainted desire. 

The sooner they got to Kaer Morhen, the better.

Geralt started on reading Roach, giving Jaskier a bit more time to rest. The conversation they were going to have once he woke would be uncomfortable at best; and the bard looked to be having good dreams. Geralt wouldn’t ruin them just yet.

Waterskins refilled, their belongs sans his bedroll packed up, and wearing a new shirt, he could no longer delay the inevitable.

Crouching down beside Jaskier, he gently shook the bards shoulder.

“Jaskier. Wake up.” 

“Mm.” Blue eyes blinked open, hazy with sleep. “Time to go, Alpha?”

_Alpha_ . 

“Don’t.” Geralt growled, quickly standing. Jaskier sat up, rubbing his eyes before glancing at the Witcher.

“I see.” He said, a short moment later. “I know what you’re about to say, Geralt.”

“That so.” Geralt grunted, turning his back on the bard to grab Roach’s reins.

“You’re going to say this was a mistake. That it can’t happen again.” Jaskier gave a sigh, slowly rising up and onto his feet. Geralt halted.

“How?”

“You’re making that face you do when you’re feeling guilty over something, or think you made a mistake.” The bard replied evenly, rolling up their makeshift bed as he spoke. 

“I don’t _make_ faces.” Geralt grumbled, irritated. 

“Of course you do.” Jaskier hummed, securing the bedroll to their packs. “Your face gets all pinched and frowny, and _then_ you say ‘Fuck’ and run off like you’re being chased by a pack of ghouls.”

Geralt frowned. Jaskier was being incredibly casual about this all. Perhaps- had it not meant as much to him as Geralt had thought?

The notion froze something inside him, while another part roared with displeasure. 

Geralt did what he did best, and ignored his feelings. 

“Enough talk.” He grunted, nodding towards the mountain. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me why, at least?” Jaskier questioned, searching the ground for his breeches, pulling them on once they’d been located. “Why it can’t happen again, I mean?”

“No.” 

This was easier, for them both.

Anything was better than telling the truth.

_Because I don’t know if I want you for yourself, or the being you’ve become._

* * *

The trail had, predictably, been difficult. 

Still, all things considered, they’d done well. Reach Kaer Morhen before it had become dark. 

“Stay close.” Geralt warned. “If Vesemir see’s you like this, on your own, he’ll-”

“Put a sword through me, yes, I know.” Jaskier replied, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, dear Witcher. I’ve no intentions of leaving your side.” 

Geralt huffed, rolling his eyes so hard it almost hurt. They’d spent the entire trek in silence, save for Roachs heavy breathing and occasional snorts. Jaskier had trailed behind them, naked feet padding quietly over the dirt. Geralt had to turn his head a few times, just to make sure he was still there. 

He’d expected- well,  _more_ . More resistance. Maybe a fight. At the very least, being incessantly questioned about  _why_ exactly they couldn’t bed each other anymore. Had Jaskier not enjoyed it? Had it not been what he wanted after all? Had he- and the very thought sickened him to his core-  _forced_ himself on him?

“You’re making that face again.” 

“Fuck off.” Geralt grumbled, in a piss poor mood; exhausted and confused, and more than all filled by self loathing. He’d been prepared to push Jaskier as far away from him as possible, only to find out that the bard hadn’t _really_ wanted him to begin with. Was happy to never touch Geralt intimately again, and go back to being friends, while Geralt was tortured by his yearning. 

“But you just told me to stay _close!_ ” Jaskier protested, wings flapping hard enough to lift him an inch of the ground. 

Had the situation been different, Geralt might have laughed. 

“What the _fuck_ have you brought into my keep, boy?” A voice thundered, quickly drawing their attention. And there Vesemir stood, eyebrow raised as he nodded towards Jaskier.

“Vesemir.” Geralt replied, quite suddenly exhausted. They were here. They’d finally made it. “That’s what we’re hoping to find out. This is Jaskier- the bard that used to follow me around.”

“A pleasure to meet you!” Jaskier crowed, feet once more firmly on the ground. “Geralt hasn’t exactly been forthcoming about you, or anything concerning this place. Its nice to have a face to the name, at least.”

“We don’t share our secrets with humans. Much less monsters.” Vesemir grunted, examining the bard from head to toe. 

“I- yes, of course you wouldn’t.” Jaskiers smile faltered for a second, before it returned, cold and clearly fake. “I do apologize for inconveniencing you-”

“He’s not a monster.” Geralt cut, taking a towards the man that raised him, trained him, all those years ago. “He’s no threat to you, or me. He just- _we_ need your help.” 

“Help with what?” Vesemir asked, his eyes still firmly glued to the bard; as if he expected to be attack any second. 

“To find out what he is.” Geralt replied, willing himself to stay calm. Even from Vesemir, he wouldn’t tolerate the insult of calling Jaskier a monster. Could already scent the bards grief. And Jaskier might not want him the way Geralt ached for him; might annoy him from time to time; but he was dear to him. 

Geralt protected his own. 

Vesemir remained silent for a long time. Flicked his gaze from Geralt to Jaskier, then back again. No one moved; even Roach seemingly recognizing the tension, and remaining firmly behind her owner. 

“..You brought him here. That makes him your responsibility.” The older wolf finally spoke. “If he turns out to be what he _looks_ to be, you’ll be the one to take him out.”

“He isn’t _dangerous_.” Geralt ground out between clenched teeth, eyes narrowed. “Could’ve killed me a million times by now, and not once-”

“You reek of his magic, boy. Not on your skin, though that, too.” Vesemir replied, his tone low and dark. “Whatever he is, whatever he’s done to you. Its _inside_ you, now. I can’t turn you away, back into the world where he could do all numbers of things. I can’t attack him, for you’d surly protect him. But don’t be fooled, _boy_. He’s much more dangerous than he looks.”

* * *

Hours later, with Roach settled in the stable, and Vesemir locked into the library, Geralt had finally confronted the revelation the older man had so unceremoniously dumped on them.

Somehow, Jaskiers magic- it had become a part of the Witcher. 

He hadn’t even realized that his scent had changed, at its very core, until it had been pointed out to him. Now that he  _knew_ , he couldn’t ignore it. It had changed. Truly, staggeringly changed, to hold a note that he’d come to associate with Jaskier after they’d been reunited. 

It had been a difficult thing to hear, and the more he thought about it, the worse it had become.

He had no doubt that Jaskier hadn’t done this on purpose. If he had, the look the bard had given, so clearly horrified and scared, would have erased them. This wasn’t his doing, not consciously, anyway.

Geralt had done what he’d always done when he didn’t want to face something. 

He’d grunted at Jaskier to hunt them dinner, and made for the stables. Jaskier had left without a word, walking out the crumbling gates instead of taking off beside the Witcher as he had in the past. Possibly afraid of Vesemirs reaction. 

Geralt had just needed time to _think_. To mull over all the implications of this- _connection_ they now had, and what it meant for the future. He’d already dealt with magic bonds with Yen, and that hadn’t exactly gone _well_.

More importantly, when has this bond come to be? Had it formed right at the beginning? Had it formed as they traveled? Or maybe, it had come to life the night before, when he’d stupidly given in to his desires. 

Too many possibilities, with no real way to find out. 

Now, he was concerned with learning what the bond meant for him, and Jaskier. Some magical bonds simply pulled two people together. Others caused pain and agony if the-  _afflicted_ were too far apart. Others again allowed for the sharing of minds, or emotions. 

Some bound together life, and death. One partner died, and the other quickly followed suit.

He prayed, _fucking prayed_ , it wasn’t that kind of magic. Sooner or later, a monster would get the upper hand over him. If Jaskier died because of it- he couldn’t even finish the thought. 

“Geralt.” Jaskier called from across the main hall, far too timid for who he was. He had a large buck swung over his shoulder, warm blood dripping along his shoulder and onto his chest, along the length of his arm. Not the bards blood, thankfully, by the smell of it. 

Geralt sighed, pulled himself of the bench he’d been sitting on, and crossed the room in a few, quick steps.

“Lets get this to the kitchen.” He said, pulling the dead animal off the bards shoulder. “After, I’ll show you my room, and you can clean up-”

“Wait!” Jaskier pleaded, grabbing hold of Geralts wrist, his grip a little too hard. “I- please, can we talk? I need to- If I did what he _said_ I did- Geralt, I’m _so sorry_ -”

There was so much anguish in those words, so much heartbreak- it was too much too take. Dropping the deer to the ground, he took hold of Jaskiers shoulder, squeezing tight.

“You didn’t mean to.” Geralt soothed, keeping his voice low and even; almost soft. “Whatever happened; whatever this means; that much, I’m sure of.” 

Jaskier nodded, eyes watery, still holding on to Geralts wrist as if he was the only thing that could keep him whole. 

“I- Maybe we can- fix it.” He hiccuped, stubbornly trying to blink away his tears. “You mean so much to me Geralt, I- if I hurt you, even by accident, I could never forgive myself. Please. We need to find out what I am, and what I’ve done, so we can _undo_ it.”

“We will.” Geralt replied, if only to pacify the bard, to ease his tribulation. “In the morning, we’ll scour the library, and get our answers. For now, we’ll eat and rest.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Chapter! Woop! And Vesemir gets some screen time, for lack of a better word! Are you guys excited? I'm excited <3

The evening had passed in relative peace.

Geralt had helped Vesemir with preparing their dinner, ignoring the glances the older Witcher kept giving him. If it had been anyone else, Geralt would have felt on edge; but with Vesemir, he knew there was nothing to fear.

He’d never say it out loud, but Vesemir was the closest thing to a father Geralt ever had in his life; in turn, he suspected he was much like a son to him. With so few of their school left, the remaining Witcher had become even closer than before.

Vesemir wouldn’t attack him, no matter how unhappy he was with Geralt.

“Tell me about the thing-”

“Jaskier.” Geralt grunted, sternly.

“-Tell me about _Jaskier_.” Vesemir finally requested, as they peeled potatoes they intended to cook. Supplies weren’t plenty, but they had enough for this at least. 

“What do you want to know?” Geralt asked. He’d expected questions, and not just a few.

“Everything. Where you met again, his powers, his weaknesses. Did you feel the bond manifest? Did anything change about _you_?”

“Hmm.” Geralt considered his answers carefully. “Ran into him when someone put a contract out for him. He can fly, and he’s handy with his claws. His senses have heightened; I’d say they’re as good as ours, maybe better. Doesn’t age anymore. He’s got a Witchers stamina, though he seems to be stronger than we are.”

“Seems to be?”

“He’s never turned against me; I wouldn’t know how strong he really is.” 

“Said there was a contract out on him.” Geralts hand stilled, gripping the handle of the blade he was holding just a little tighter at Vesemirs tone.

“He grabbed a woman from a village, flew her off into the woods. Her husband sent me after them. Turned out the woman had wanted to run away from him, and befriended Jaskier. He helped her. Husband wasn’t foolish enough to go after- _whatever_ Jaskier is now.”

They spent a few moments in silence.

“You’re sure he didn’t just _tell_ you that?” 

“Yes.” Geralt ground out between clenched teeth. “He’s never lied to me, in all the time I knew him.”

“Or he did, and you just never found out.” 

Had they been talking about anyone else, Geralt would have considered the possibility. But with Jaskier? No. His bard was smarter than he let on, that was true, but he had never kept anything from Geralt. Ever.

“What do you want from me, old man.” Geralt growled, starting to feel irritated. “I brought a friend in need of your help. If I thought, even for a second, that he was anything _but_ what he said he is, I’d have left him behind long before I came here.”

“Might be the bond.” Vesemir suggested, motioning towards Geralt with his knife. “Powerful magic, that is. And by the look on your face, you hadn’t even realized it existed, until _I_ told you. So I ask you again, did anything about _you_ change?” 

“And if you’d seen his face, you’d know that _he_ didn’t know, either.” Geralt snarled, clutching his knife so hard his knuckles turned white. “Nothings about me changed. I’m the same as I’ve always been. He hasn’t enchanted or cursed me; he had me on my _back_ , could’ve fucking _killed_ me again and again and he _didn’t_.”

“Hmm.” Vesemir hummed, looking up from his potato to glance at the door. “We have company.”

A few seconds later came a timid knock at the door.

Geralt stood, a deep seated need to protect his bard, even from Vesemir, urging him to put himself between them. He walked to the door and opened it. 

Jaskier stood before him, cleaned of the dirt from his hunt, hair still wet from the water Geralt had fetched for him. The bard had always been the cleanly type; after Vesemirs harsh words, he’d wanted to accommodate his lark as much as possible.

“Geralt.” Jaskier smiled, though the smile was still a bit _off_ ; didn’t _quite_ reach his eyes. “Do you two need help? My claws could come in handy to-”

“We’re doing fine.” Vesemir cut in. Geralt cringed. Jaskiers expression turned somber, his gaze dropping to stare at the floor, defeated. 

“We’re fine.” Geralt repeated, slowly. He turned to glare at Vesemir over his shoulder, lips twitching with the urge to bare his teeth. Just because he wouldn’t lay with Jaskier anymore-

_he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he’d resist_ -

didn’t mean he’d let the old man treat him like dirt. Not when Geralt was around to stop it.

“In fact, I don’t think he needs _me_ , either.” Geralt turned his attention back to the bard, blue eyes wide and filled with hope. “Why don’t we go up to the hall; Prepare the table and stoke the fire.”

“..You’re sure?” Jaskier asked, uncertain, peeking at the older Witcher still seated at the kitchens wooden table. Whatever expression graced Vesemirs face, Geralt didn’t care. If he was going to act like an ass, then Geralt had no quarrels treating him as such.

“I’m sure.” Geralt nodded, gently urging the bard away from the kitchen.

"Stay out of the library!” Vesemir shouted after them, clearly quite cross. “He’ll rip everything with his claws!”

Geralt ignored him.

* * *

They’d ended up eating in silence, Geralt and Vesemir both too pissed off to talk, and Jaskier too intimidated. His wings kept giving anxious little flutters, each one setting of a twitch in Vesemir. 

Relief flooded Geralt when they’d finished their meal, and were free to retire for the night.

He didn’t hesitate for a second, leading Jaskier back towards his room. It was only when the bard timidly tugged at his sleeve that he stopped.

“I- uhm.” Jaskier started, squirming where he stood. “Maybe we shouldn’t sleep together.”

Geralt blinked.

“Its just- He already hates me, and thinks I’ve- I don’t know, _bewitched_ you in some way.” Jaskier was quick to explain. “I don’t want to make it _worse_.”

Geralt mulled the idea over. There were enough rooms available that Jaskier could rest in. He’d have to bring in more firewood from outside, for even with milder temperatures, the keep could be quite cold at night. But the thought of leaving Jaskier to his own devices the entire night, so insecure and clearly unhappy.. 

“You stay with me.” Geralt grunted, and continued on. 

He was doing this for Jaskier. The stab of pain at the idea of sleeping alone once more had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. It’d become true if he kept repeating it in his mind. 

And so, Jaskier shuffled after him, glancing anxiously around the room after Geralt closed the door. The bed was big enough for both of them; the fire crackled happily in its hearth. 

“He won’t hurt you.” Geralt said, hoping to ease some of the bards distress. “Not while I’m here.”

Jaskier sighed, giving Geralt a look that broke the Witchers heart. He looked-  _lost_ . Lost, and scared.

“I know. I know he won’t hurt me.” Jaskier quietly replied. “I just- I wanted him to _like_ me.”

For the second time that evening, all Geralt could do was blink, dumbfounded. 

“I know he’s like a father to you, Geralt. You didn’t tell me much about- well, anything, but that’s beside the point- but this much, I do know.” Jaskier closed his eyes, shook his head. “He’s important to you. You care about his opinion and I- It _frightens_ me. What if he convinces you that I am a- a monster?”

“Never.” Geralt growled out forcefully, stepping forward until their faces were only inches apart. “Nothing and no one could convince me of that, Jaskier. I _know_ you. I _have_ known you, for many years. Even if you’re not human, you could _never_ be a monster.”

Jaskier gave him a smile; small, but true. 

“Thank you Geralt. For believing in me.” Jaskier whispered, leaning in just an inch, close enough to feel his breath ghosting across Geralts cheek. 

Oh, much he wanted. How much he  _yearned_ . Geralt wanted to grab Jaskier by the back of his neck, pull him in, feel Jaskier melt against his chest as he had that first time they’d learned of this-  _sensitive_ spot. Just recalling the noises the bard could make had Geralts blood rushing down towards his groin. Maybe they could have another night, maybe-

Jaskier pulled back.

“Sorry.” He said, looking rather sheepish. “I shouldn’t- uh.”

Geralt couldn’t form words; his tongue had gone heavy and numb in his mouth. Finally, after far too much time had passed, he gave a sharp nod.

“Lets sleep.” Jaskier prompted, climbing onto the bed, shuffling to the far side of it, leaving room for Geralt. The Witcher complied, still mute, moving to lay on his back. Opening his arm for the bard to curl up beside him had become habit at this point. 

Jaskier hesitating to take the invitation, was not. 

Geralt looked up at him, caught Jaskiers nervous glance at the door.

“He won’t come in.” Geralt huffed. Apparently, all it took to find his words was a need to sooth Jaskier. “You’ll just shift closer during the night, and we’ll end up like this anyway. Go on. We both need sleep.”

Thus reassured, Jaskier flopped onto the mattress, wrapping himself around the Witcher as he had done many times before,  giving a pleased little coo as his nose met the skin of Geralts neck; his wing blanketing itself over them. 

Sleep took both of them within minutes.

* * *

Vesemir had seen a good amount of monsters in his day. 

Had read about many more. Heard about more from other Witchers. 

Nothing he’d ever encountered, be it in life, in books, or the tales of others, held any resemblance to the creature in his keep. 

It bothered him to a degree only very few things did after all his years alive. 

What made it even worse was the hold it clearly had on Geralt. The younger man might have been unaware of it, but he reacted to every movement the creature made. If its wings twitched a certain way, Geralt placed his hand on its thigh. 

A soft sound of distress, and Geralt honed in on it with a single-minded intensity. Fully prepared to take care of whatever was unnerving it. 

He had no doubt that Geralt would  _kill_ for it, without blinking an eye.

It was troubling, this kind of behavior. Even more so from a Witcher. 

Vesemir would have to find out what it was, and what exactly it had  _done_ to Geralt. Only then could he begin to figure out how to reverse it. 

He’d been brooding over the problem when a sound caught his ear. A door opening, and falling shut- so quiet even he barely heard it. Immediately on edge, he jumped from his seat, patting himself on the shoulder for his foresight; had kept on his usual armor and prepared to go without sleep that night.  Vesemir grabbed his silver sword.

He  _ knew _ the little shit was up to something. 

Vesemir followed, quiet as a cat, as the creature moved along the keeps hall, right to the main entrance to the main hall. It slipped outside, not making a single sound, save the rustling of its feathers. 

So it could move soundlessly, if it wanted. Information  that was good to have. 

Torn between not wanting to alert it, and a fear of losing it should he wait too long, Vesemir spent a few moments standing completely still before continuing on. Whatever it was doing, he’d catch it in the act. Geralt would  _ have _ to listen.

Opening the large wooden doors without much effort, Vesemir slipped out into the dark. Where humans would have difficulty seeing in the pitch black of night, he had no such issues. 

“You don’t have to sneak for my benefit.” The creature called to him, seated on the stone floor, legs laid out before it, resting back on it hands, wings tucked against its back. Head leaned back as it stared into the sky.

Fuck. He’d been caught.

“Its beautiful here.” It continued, not once glancing back at him. No sour stench of fear. Just the slightest hint of the forest and wildflowers. He didn’t move closer.

“I like the stars.” It went on, as if it wasn’t aware just how much he wanted to dispatch of it. It was ludicrous, offering your back to an enemy. It meant certain death. It was quite sure, then, that Geralts protection would keep it safe, even without his presence. 

Smug little thing. 

“What do you want with Geralt?” He finally asked, when silence stretched between them. “What have you  _ done _ to him?”

The creature sighed, claws clicking against the ground as he moved to sit upright, bringing his claws into its lap as his legs crossed. 

“I don’t want anything but his help, and friendship- no, that’s not true. I  _ want _ his love..” It said, sounding, for all appearance, upset. “I know its impossible. He could do so much  _ better _ than me. I’ve never met anyone so- so  _ good _ . And I don’t know  _ what _ I did to him.”

“Then why bind yourself to him?” Vesemir questioned, slowly circling the being, keeping enough distance between them to defend himself, just him case.  Came to stand at its side, he examined it carefully. 

“I  _ didn’t _ .” It insisted, finally turning its head to look up at him. Its blue eyes somehow radiant, even in the darkness. “At least- not on purpose.” 

Vesemir snorted. He’d sooner believe Geralt telling him he’d fathered a babe than  _ that _ .

“I know you don’t trust me.” It said, after a long sigh. “I wouldn’t trust me either. You’re his- his  _ father _ , whether you admit it or not. You’re trying to look out for him, as you always have. And here I am, waltzing into your home with claws and wings and horns, and you can sense my magic  _ inside _ him.. Well. If I were in your shoes, I’d want to put a sword through me, too.”

V esemir remained silent. He had nothing to say to the words spoken.

“I suppose there’s nothing I can say to make you believe me.” It hummed, its eyes glued back to the sky. “But hopefully, I can prove it to you. With time.”

“Fat chance.” Vesemir remarked dryly. The thing, to his surprise, chuckled; catching him completely off guard.

“I can see where Geralt got his, uh-  _ surly _ disposition from.” It sounded- well, it sounded  _ charmed _ . Like being surly was somehow a  _ pleasant _ nature in its eyes. 

Again, Vesemir said nothing.

“You’re a good father.” It remarked, slowly coming to its feet. “I envy Geralt; truly.”

Alarmed at its movement, Vesemir widened his stance, hand twitching towards his sword. Watched as the creature lifted its hands in what was most likely meant to be a soothing gesture. The moonlight glinted off its claws, immediately ruining what was intended  to reassure. 

“I just wanted to see the stars.” It said. “And I’d like to get back to bed now; if you allow it.”

Vesemir narrowed his eyes. Weighed his options. 

Attack, or let it pass. 

“..If you harm a hair on his head-” He growled out, only to be quickly interrupted.

“Then I’ll throw myself on your very pretty sword. No help from you needed.” 

Vesemir growled again, just for good measure. But he didn’t move.

“Good night, Vesemir.” It said, a smile tugging at its lips. “And if you’d like to meet to watch the stars again, feel free to just  _ ask _ . I promise I don’t bite.”

With that last, too cheeky for his taste, remark, the creature wandered back inside. 

He’d figure out what was happening. Wasn’t fooled by its docile behavior, nor its pleasant attitude.

Geralt would be freed of it; sooner rather than later.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh big chapter guys! I really hope you like it <3

Days had passed since that first night at Kaer Morhen.

With each, Geralt had become more tense. More _frustrated_.

Vesemirs behavior towards Jaskier had barely improved. No longer openly hostile, he mostly ignored the bard; or so, he wanted them to believe. He’d catch the older Witcher _watching_ Jaskier; like prey. Gathering information, filing it away, perhaps even looking for a _weakness_. Waiting for an opportunity, as he’d taught them to do, to strike.

Geralt could barely contain his anger at this blatant disregard for Geralts words that first night in the kitchen. Vesemir clearly didn’t trust him, and _that_ cut deeper than Geralt had expected.

The fact that after days of going through the books in the library unsuccessfully only fueled his emotions. Just as he’d promised Jaskier, they’d started searching the next morning; under Vesemirs watchful eye, because _apparently,_ Geralt couldn’t be trusted to keep the books intact without being supervised like a child. 

Jaskier, thankfully, was handling the situation with much more grace. He ignored the glances of the older Witcher that he was surely aware of; didn’t become upset when Geralt put back  _another fucking book_ he’d hoped to find an answer in, only to be disappointed once again. How the bard could remain so cheerful, even when faced with defeat, Geralt would never understand.

To top it all off, the pull Geralt felt towards Jaskier was getting stronger. They shared the bed at night, slept in each others arms, but it wasn’t  _enough_ . He knew know what the bard felt like,  _sounded_ like in the throws of passion. Knew how  _wet_ he became at the Witchers touch. Geralt hadn’t realized that a single encounter was enough to get him addicted to it all- to  _Jaskier_ .

And now, like a proper addict, he was  craving another taste,  another sound of pleasure,  _anything_ to fill the emptiness that swelled in his chest. No matter how much he told himself that it was  _wrong_ to want this; that he’d done wrong by his closest friend. The horror he’d felt as he woke that morning slowly fading as his need rose. 

He wouldn’t give in. He’d stay strong. 

For Jaskier.

Another book that came with no hint was shut forcefully. He was half tempted to just throw the damn thing against a shelf, to  _ scream _ his frustration out into the world, if only it bought him some relief of all his feelings.

He needed to control himself. Couldn’t let on to Vesemir that something wasn’t as it should be; would only be handing the Witcher more proof to something he already firmly believed in.

That Jaskier had  _done_ something to Geralt.

Forcing himself to move slowly, to not betray his distress, Geralt returned the book to its proper place among the shelves of the library; reached out to the next, only to be stopped by a clawed hand gently resting against his outstretched arm.

“Sun’s going down.” Jaskier spoke softly, as if Geralt was an animal in need of soothing. “Why don’t we go and prepare dinner?”

They’d been taking turns cooking; either Vesemir provided a meal, or Jaskier and Geralt worked in the kitchen. Had outright refused to leave Jaskier alone in any part of the keep, out of fear what would happen if Vesemir decided he’d put up with the bard in his keep for long enough. He didn’t expect a physical attack, but a verbal one. Vesemir had without a doubt detected the bards distress at their first meeting. Knew he could hurt Jaskier with words, perhaps more than with a sword, at this point. Geralt wouldn’t allow it. Now, the only time Jaskier was truly alone, was when he flew off to hunt, or stretch his wings.

“Hmm.” Geralt nodded, lowering his arm. Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, letting the air flow evenly out of him as he exhaled. Jaskiers scent the only thing keeping him from falling apart. 

“I’ll see to the horses.” Vesemir gruffed, yet didn’t move until Geralt and Jaskier did. Trailing behind them as they left the library. Irritation stabbed at Geralts chest for what felt like the millionth time. It wasn’t fucking _necessary_ for the old man to be around them constantly while in the library, and yet he deemed it so.

G eralt didn’t talk that evening, leaving it to Jaskier to fill the silence as they prepared their meal. His bard had always been good at that; talking just for the sake of  _talking_ , drowning out whatever else surrounded them. Back when they’d first traveled together, it had been annoying. Now, Geralt treasured it. When he listened to Jaskier, he didn’t have to think about anything else. Could let his mind focus on whatever the bard was babbling on about; never forcing him to take part in the conversation. 

Geralt wondered if Jaskier knew just how grateful he was for the much needed distraction. 

They ate in silence, Jaskier seated close enough that their knees touched under the table, reassuring Geralt with his touch. A touch that made the Witcher tingle, made him want to place his hand on Jaskiers thigh, to offer some reassurance of his own. But Vesemir was watching.

He was.  _Always. Fucking. Watching_ .

Geralt practically fled to his bedroom that night. Couldn’t take another second of Vesemir scrutiny, lest he push Geralt too far, into a  _physical_ confrontation. He’d never thought he’d want to lay hands on the man that raised him in anything but companionship and kindness. Right now, he wanted to punch the man in the face. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier closed the door behind them, worry apparent in the way he spoke; the way he placed a hand on Geralts shoulder, gently squeezing. “Whats wrong?”

“Nothing.” Geralt grunted, shrugging off the bards hand as he moved to the bed, yanking off his shirt. If he could just lay down and get some sleep.. Jaskier remained silent, a rare enough occurrence to make Geralt stop undressing and turn, examining the bards face.

There was sadness there, and worry. But also something else Geralt couldn’t quite put his finger on. Even in his aggravated state, Geralt couldn’t bare seeing Jaskier sad. Cursing under his breath, he slowly sat at the beds edge, grabbing onto his knees to ground himself. 

“I’m.. frustrated.” Geralt forced the words to pass over his lips, as unwelcome a feeling they left on his tongue. “We’ve been here a week, and still we haven’t found anything. Vesemir is acting like a- a _fucking_ guard dog; always watching us like-”

“Like I’m about to hurt you.” Jaskier finished, helpfully. “I know.” 

“Then why aren’t _you_ frustrated?” Geralt demanded, speaking a bit harsher than he’d intended, and immediately continuing on with a softer tone. “We’re not making any progress finding out what you are. You’re being treated like some brigand, or- or a feral _beast_ , day in and day out. How can you be so _calm_?”

“Hm.” Jaskier hummed, his wings settling comfortably against his back as he considered his reply. “Well.. to be honest, I hadn’t expected any quick solutions, or answers, to what I am. I figured that, if you hadn’t heard of it before, it would take some digging. After so long without knowing- I suppose another week simply isn’t all that long to me.”

Geralt grunted. He didn’t like the reply but it  _did_ make sense. Jaskier had spent a decade without answers. What were a few weeks more in comparison? 

“As for Vesemir.” Jaskier continued, thoughtful. “Its a combination of understanding him, and knowing that sometimes- most of the times, really- people only see what they _want_ to see. Even Witchers aren’t immune to prejudice.”

“Understand him?” Geralt growled. “How could you _understand_ what he’s doing?”

“He’s worried for you, Geralt.” The bard replied, lips curling into a lop-sided smile as he moved to kneel before the Witcher, placing his hands above Geralts. “He wants to keep you save. He _cares_ about you, _deeply_. Loves you, even. We may love you in different ways, but its love all the same. The urge to keep you safe, to protect you, at all costs? I understand that.”

T ime stood still. 

_We may love you in different ways_ -

_ Love you- _

Geralts mind went into a frenzy. Had Jaskier just confessed to him, or were they speaking of a brotherly love, the love you held for a sibling, or a dear friend, perhaps? And if he had meant it as a confession, then why would he say it  _now_ , why never before- 

And why did it make Geralts heart  _soar_ ?

“Geralt?” Jaskier, seemingly unaware of what he’d just caused, furrowed his brows as he looked up at the Witcher. “Geralt, are you alright?”

_No_ , Geralt wanted to scream. Wanted to run and hide, wanted to take Jaskier into his arms, wanted to shake the bard and  _demand_ an answer. Wanted to hunch over and hurl because no one,  _no one_ had ever said those words to him before. 

“You’re shaking!” The bard, now alarmed, rose to his feet and stepped closer, each lean leg astride of Geralts own, wrapping his arms around the white wolfs neck as his wings wrapped himself around them. “Are you sick? I thought Witchers were immune to illness! Are you cold? Do you feel warm? Do you want me to stoke the fire, or- maybe I should get Ves-”

“ _No!_ ” Geralt choked out, trembling hands setting themselves firmly against the bards hips, pulling him down onto his lap, pulling him closer, until their chests were pressed together. He needed to feel Jaskier close, needed to _breathe_ him in; because suddenly, it all made sense.

Not a single person had ever been able to get under Geralts skin like Jaskier had, in all the years of his life; not even Yen. That night on the mountain- he’d been angry about her leaving, had hated himself for binding her to him, for being so desperate to have her- but not for the reasons he’d thought at the time.

He’d  _wanted_ to want Yen. For her to be the one he could love, and be loved in return. Had wanted it so  _badly_ he’d ignored everything else. 

Because the one he truly,  _deeply_ loved, he could never be with. 

Too fragile, too soft, too  _mortal_ . Too good for  _him_ , and the shitty life he lead. 

Who wanted soft beds and perfume, to be wrapped in silks and other fine fabrics; who wanted for fame and money and open admiration. A good, comfortable life in a big, comfortable home, filled with expensive furniture and feathered pillows. 

That deserved all those things, and more, that Geralt could never give him. 

In his anger at losing the one, the  _only_ possible distraction, he’d lashed out at them and chased them away. Only to find them again, ten years later, in a clearing of a forest. 

How had he been so  _blind?_

“Geralt, please talk to me.” Jaskier whispered, pressing his forehead to the Witchers, his wings fluttering nervously, twitching in their embrace. “What’s going on? Are you hurt?”

“No.” Geralt breathed, letting his eyes fall shut. “I’m not hurt.”

“Then why are you still shaking?”

Geralt didn’t respond, not right away. Needed time to steady himself. If he was wrong- if he’d misinterpreted- he was about to make the biggest mistake in his life. But if he was right…

He had to risk it. Had to speak the words he’d been locking away in the back of his mind for too fucking long, or they’d rip him apart.

“I love you.” 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo. I know people wanted smutt. But- AHH. *coughs* Yea. I hope you guys enjoy the chapter anyway. <3 Much love to all of you out there, and thank you so much for all your comments, kudos, and all the wonderful support <3

“ _I love you.”_

The words felt foreign on his lips, even as he spoke them. As much as no one had ever directed them at him, Geralt had never breathed them to another soul, either.

Here, today- they felt _right_. Felt _true_.

He loved Jaskier. He always had.

“..What?” Jaskier breathed, pulled back to look down at Geralt, and- _oh_. There was no joy in the bards eyes, just confusion and.. _fear_. Jaskier was _afraid._ He’d done it now, he’d ruined it, had opened his mouth and hoped for something that he’d known wasn’t his to _want_ -

Horrified at the rejection, Geralt reacted on instinct. He shoved at Jaskier, had to get him _off_ , right fucking _now_ , or the pain would settle too deep, would leave him too vulnerable-

He hadn’t meant to push that hard.

Jaskier toppled over backwards, and before he could catch himself, landed with a resounding thud on the hard floor, his head connecting with the stone, drawing out a sound of pain.

“Damn it Geralt!” The bard hissed, quickly righting himself, one hand coming up to touch the back of his head. “You great brute!”

And now he’d done it again, he’d actually, _physically_ , hurt him. Another transgression he could add on to the list of the many, many times he’d harmed Jaskier. Geralt stood, made straight for the door, fully intending to leave the room and never fucking come back-

\- only to have a strong hand grab onto his arm and tug him back, hold him still.

“Don’t you dare.” Jaskier hissed, clutching the Witchers upper arm painfully tight. “You don’t- you don’t get to just _say_ that and then piss off without- without giving me time to-”

Geralt grunted, and held still. Before, he would have easily broken the bards hold on him, and continued on. Now, Jaskier was stronger than him. Fighting wouldn’t get him anywhere. So he stood still.

“Geralt, will you please look at me.”

“No.” Geralt growled, keeping his eyes trained firmly on the door. He didn’t need to see the pity in those eyes he loved so much. Didn’t want to hear the excuses that would inevitably follow. _Of course_ Jaskier didn’t love him. How he could ever have thought differently-

“I’m not having this conversation with you halfway out the room.” Jaskier insisted firmly, dragging the Witcher backwards, even as Geralt stubbornly dug his heels in, at least attempting to resist. Before he knew it, he was bodily shoved back onto the bed.

Jaskier stood before him, hands at his hips, wings spread out above him, trembling with anger. He reminded Geralt of a particularly pissed off cat he’d once witnessed. Instead of fur standing straight, in the bards case, it was his feathers; spread wide and clearly meant to intimidate. In another situation, Geralt might have laughed. Now, all he did was bare his teeth.

“Don’t want to hear it, bard.” He snapped. “Whatever honeyed words you’re cooking up to try and- and _soothe_ me, you can keep them to yourself. You don’t _want_ me, and that’s that.”

“You giant lummox.” Jaskier seethed, crowding back into the Witchers space as he sat up. “How _dare_ you! I haven’t even had enough time to fucking process what you just said, the enormity of those words coming from _you_ , and you just _assume_ I don’t love you? That I don’t want you?!”

“You were _scared!_ ” Geralt bit out, not backing down, getting back onto his feet, straightening to his full height, in hopes of intimidating the bard. “Not once in your life have you been scared of me, not in all the times I’ve know you, no matter what I said, but you _were_. Right now, you were _frightened_.”

“Of course I’m scared!” Jaskier shouted, the sound bouncing off the walls of the room. No doubt Vesemir would hear their conversation quite clearly, whether he wanted to or not. “You- You find me again after ten fucking years, after _throwing me away_ , never once having said anything like that ever before, and then I find out that somehow I put some- some _curse_ on you, or my magic inside you and then you tell me you _love_ me!”

Geralt was ready to reply, only to be smacked in the head with a wing.

“How do you know this isn’t _that very magic_ that makes you feel this? _Hm?”_ Jaskier challenged. “How do you _know_ Vesemir isn’t right, that _I_ did this to you? That because I’ve loved you, from the _moment_ I _fucking_ laid eyes on you, I somehow _enchanted_ you to feel the same, to keep you with me?!”

Geralts brain blanked out on that. His brows furrowed. Did Jaskier really think-

“So I am _terribly_ sorry I hurt your feelings Geralt, by not falling into your arms and confessing to you that for _two fucking decades_ , I’ve pined over you like a pathetic dog who’s owner had abandoned them. But this? This _scares_ me. It scares me that what you’re feeling might not come from _you_ , but from _me_. That, in some way, I _forced_ this on you.”

The bards breath came too quickly, too harshly now; chest rising and falling rapidly as he spoke; corn blue eyes becoming wet with tears.

“I know, better than anyone else, how much you _hate_ being forced into things. If I did that- if I coerced you, even by accident- and then took advantage..” Jaskier audibly swallowed. “ _I’d never forgive myself._ ”

Geralt stood, silent. Worked through everything that had just been said.

“I.. understand.” He quietly replied.

“Wonderful.” Jaskier snarled, still upset, still _hurt_. And he, Geralt, had done that. Because he’d come to the wrong conclusion, hadn’t allowed his bard the time to talk.. he truly was a lummox.

“I’m sorry Jaskier.” Geralt spoke, slowly reaching out to take Jaskiers hand, giving the man every chance to pull back and deny the touch. But, surprisingly, he allowed it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about- I didn’t _think_.”

Why the fuck did _words_ have to be so _fucking hard_?

“No, you didn’t.” Jaskier agreed, though he seemed to less inclined to rage now; his wings fluttering downwards as they came back to rest against the bards back.

“I never realized how I- _felt_ about you.” Geralt continued; forcing the words out. He could do it, for Jaskier. Would find a way to catch a star and present it to the bard if he asked. “Not until- right now.”

“Geralt, that’s-” Jaskier sighed, shaking his head. “That’s so incredibly _you_ , and at the same time incredibly _convenient_ for me.”

“Convenient?” Geralt rumbled, confused.

“Yes, _convenient_.” Jaskier repeated. “You said you never realized them before, but how can we be sure that they were there _before_ all this?”

“Because its the reason I lashed out at you after the dragon hunt.”

Geralt gave a sigh of his own, gently tugging at the bards hand, and hoping he would follow. When Jaskier came without protest, Geralt settled back onto the bad, leading the bard to sit beside him.

“That day, when Yen left- I was heartbroken.” Geralt started, already feeling _too open_ , like an exposed nerve. He inhaled deeply, strengthened his resolve. “Yen was everything I thought I wanted. She was beautiful, and powerful, and more importantly, she would live as long as I did. Probably longer.

She was interesting, and wild, and I thought I could find in her what I’ve been- _wanting;_ for longer than I’d like to admit. I thought that- the pain I felt- came from being left behind again. I didn’t understand then, why I was _truly_ hurting.”

“Why?” Jaskier asked in a hushed tone.

“Because I’d lost the only chance of being distracted from the one I _really_ wanted. The one I thought I couldn’t have.” The admission cost Geralt more than he’d liked to admit; his insides achingly clenching up on themselves. “Yen was the only person I’d ever met that could even begin to compare to you. Even then, she was just a candle compared to the fucking sun but-”

“It was better than nothing.” Jaskier finished.

“It was better than nothing.” Geralt agreed, echoing the bards words. “Even if I had known what I felt, and known those feelings were returned; I wouldn’t have acted on them. I thought you were _human_ , Jaskier. The chances of injuring you by accident, or watching you die trying to protect me from a beast- They were too high. If you had fallen at my hands, or because of my presence..”

Geralt trailed off. It was too much to speak the words, to finish his sentence. Just  _thinking_ them overwhelmed him with grief. 

“What made you realize now? After all these years?” 

“You did.” The words were whispered, and yet he knew Jaskier had heard him. “You said you and Vesemir loved me in different ways, but that it was still love. Something just- fell into place. Like a puzzle piece I’d been missing for twenty years.” 

“Hm.” Jaskier hummed, coming to rest against Geralts shoulder, wings and arms slack. “I want to believe you.”

“But you’re still scared.” Geralt concluded. 

“I am. We still don’t know what I am, what I can do. Maybe that piece fell into place because of my magic.” 

The thought alone was preposterous to the Witcher, made him ache to argue against it, and yet- the bard had a point. He’d wanted him before this night, that much he was sure of. But it had been lust. Hadn’t it?

“What does this mean then, for us?” He hated to ask, hated having to even consider that perhaps, this wasn’t real; Geralt believed in his heart that it was. He just couldn’t deny the possibility that something inside him had been shifted due to the bards magic.

“It means-” Jaskier swallowed, huffed out a bitter little laugh. “That no matter how much I love you, or want you, or _ache_ to be with you- I can’t. Not until we’re sure I didn’t do this.”

Again, Geralt wanted desperately to object. He wanted to  _hold_ Jaskier, to  _kiss_ him, to  _claim_ him as he had before; could smell just how tortured his bard was at the prospect of denying Geralt what they both so desperately wanted. 

But he understood. Better than anyone else, perhaps.

“One kiss.” He settled on, turning his head to nuzzle into brown locks. “One kiss, you’ll still share my bed at night, and the rest will wait.”

It felt like a fair compromise.

“Just one.” Jaskier agreed, after a moments silence. “And I’ll sleep beside you, like we have the last weeks.”

Geralt nodded, somewhat content; brushed the tips of his fingers along the bards cheek and under his chin, gently lifting it until their eyes met. Examined the bards face for any hesitation, any sign that perhaps he didn’t want to go through with this. 

He found none.

Geralt leaned down, and Jaskier met him in the middle. Soft lips brushing against his own, chapped and slightly rougher. Held there for as long as he could manage without losing his composure, give in to temptation and touch his tongue to the silken skin, request entrance..

“If you two girls are done being emotional.” Came a gruff voice from outside the door. “I might have found something.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo this took me a bit longer to post than I would have liked; I'm sorry guys Dx Unfortunately I've gotten sick again- infection in both ears is *not* a fun thing, I can tell you that. Until I've gotten over that, I will probably take longer between posts; so I hope you guys forgive me, and enjoy the chapter <3   
> Thank you so much for all the amazing support you've given me, all the kudos and comments and all that good stuff <3

“ _If you two girls are done being emotional.” Came a gruff voice from outside the door. “I might have found something.”_

Geralt growled with annoyance. He didn’t appreciate the interruption, nor the way he, and more importantly _Jaskier_ , was being spoken to. He bit his tongue, getting to his feet; held his hand out to help the bard up, despite the act being completely unnecessary.

He could not deny that he was eager to learn the information, no matter how rudely Vesemir had interrupted.

They’d finally _found_ something.

He opened the door, glaring at the older wolf for good measure; just to convey how much he disapproved of his words. Vesemir clearly didn’t care.

“Come on, we’ll nee more light then this.” The Witcher grunted, leading Geralt and Jaskier back into the main hall, where the fire in the massive hearth was still going strong. On the wooden table lay a book.

If Geralt had been forced to guess, he’d have said the book was centuries old. Perhaps as old as Vesemir; maybe older. The pages had yellowed over time, the leather binding and outside word so thin, he was surprised it wasn’t falling apart. Jaskier, ever the curious little lark, moved closer.

“This is elder speech.” Jaskier breathed as his eyes roamed the title. “But its a dialect I’ve never seen. It’s a bit like.. Hen Llinge.”

“You’re well read.” Vesemir grumbled, much to both their surprise. Jaskier glanced at Geralt, a sly smile gracing his pretty face. He’d impressed, and he knew it. “It seems to be a variation of Hen Llinge indeed.”

“Can you read it?” Geralt questioned somewhat gruffly; still a bit put out by the older man.

“No, and I’d wager neither can your bard.” Vesemir replied evenly. “It shares similarities to a language we know, but I’ve only ever been able to recognize a few words, here and there, in all the time I’ve owned this book.”

“How long is that?” Jaskier inquired, his eyes still fixed on the book, clearly wanting to touch by the way his claws twitched. Wisely, he did not attempt to, as even Geralt was sure he’d tear the old tomb to shreds by accident.

“A long time.” Vesemir grunted, settling onto a bench beside the table. “Its from my private collection. A gift from the man that trained me, when I was but a pup, the first day I set out into the world.”

“Why gift you a book you can’t read?” It made little sense to Geralt. What use could an unreadable book possibly have?

“Because he knew I had a passion for languages, and he was sure, some day I would be able to.” Vesemir sighed deeply, gazing into the fire. “I disappointed him, I’m afraid. I could never figure out what specific language, or variation of language, it was. And therefor, most of it remained a mystery.”

“Aside of the few words you recognized from Elder Speech.” Jaskier deftly concluded. “And that it must have belonged to the elves, before it came into the hands of Witchers.”

“Aye. The Aen Seidhe wrote this, if I’m not completely off mark, many centuries ago. Even if I could read the words, truth is, most of it is so faded now, it’d be of little use. The writing is barely visible.”

“Then what the fuck did you drag us out here for?” Geralt, now thoroughly annoyed, glaring at the older Witcher. “Why show us this, if it will tell us nothing?”

_Why give us hope, when there is none to be gained?_

“Because, after watching you going through the library for a week, and thinking about it while you two were- having your _moment_ \- it occurred to me. If we had never heard of it before, then whatever the bardling is, he must come from a much older creature. A creature from the time this book was written. Perhaps older. So I went through my private collection of books.”

Vesemir reached out for the fragile pages, opening it slowly, with extreme care; turning over the pages until finally-

“ _That_.” Jaskier gasped. “That looks like _me!_ ”

Intrigued, Geralt leaned closer, took a good look- and indeed. There was a painting, covering an entire page; faded, yes, but still _there_. A crouched figure, with wings and horns and claws; exactly like the ones of his bard; drawn with simple, black lines, missing eyes and a nose, but showing a malicious grin with sharpened fangs.

Whatever words had been written on the next page were just as faded, perhaps more so. As if someone had repeatedly run the tips of their fingers over it, in their quest to unearth their secret.

“It does.” He agreed, begrudgingly. The figure in the painting looked much more menacing that Jaskier ever had, even when they’d come across that werewolf one night and he’d been forced to attack. It looked- _evil_.

“But how..” Jaskier started, then broke off again, the scent of distress rising. “How could that be? If whatever I am is so old, its been lost to our memory, then how am I.. _that?_ ”

“A good question.” Vesemir hummed, and Geralt was starting to believe that perhaps having the old wolf listening in on them hadn’t been entirely bad. Perhaps Jaskiers refusal to act on these _urges_ Geralt was feeling, had calmed some of his concern. Whatever the cause, he was grateful for this clear shift in attitude towards his little songbird.

“Any ideas?” Geralt asked, instinctively stepping closer to Jaskier, wrapping an arm around the bards his, careful to not disrupt his wings. Hoping to calm the unnerved songbird.

“Could be a halfbreed.” Vesemir ventured, giving a small shrug. “The continent is vast, with deep woods and high mountains. Perhaps a few of these- _beings_ are still alive; perhaps one of them coupled with a human, and Jaskier was born.”

“Half human, half mystery monster.” Jaskier joked weakly, his voice thin and trembling. “Wonderful.”

“You aren’t a monster.” Geralt insisted, offended by the very idea that his bard could be anything but his sweet, kind little bird.

“I look like a monster.” The bard breathed, vaguely motioning towards the book. “I cant say for sure if its written on these pages, but going by the way my- my _kind_ was drawn in this..”

“Doesn’t look like your people were liked, exactly.” Vesemir grunted, ignoring the growl Geralt couldn’t restrain. “Can’t say you look harmless yourself. That’s not even considering the magic you have.”

Jaskier said nothing, simply turned his head to hide it against Geralts neck, inhaling the Witchers sent with a shivering sigh.

“Think you’ve made your point, old man.” Geralt ground out, resisting the urge to simply grab the bard and spirit him away, back into his- no, _their_ \- room; keep him safe from the world and the nasty words and looks he had become so well acquainted with. The only difference between them now the fact that Geralt was hated, yes, but he could still walk among humans if need be. Jaskier, on the other hand, would surely be hunted down and killed should he ever show himself to humans.

Vesemir gave another grunt, and for a while, none of them spoke.

Jaskier remained pressed against Geralts side as the Witcher himself scowled at the book, as if he could somehow threaten the ink to replenish itself, and perhaps give them more to go on than a _fucking picture_. Something that would soothe the bards fear, his clear repulsion at the idea of heralding from some vicious, hated species; despised so clearly a simple painting could convey it.

“Where do we go from here?” Jaskier asked timidly against Geralts skin, unwilling to turn his face back towards Vesemir.

“We speak to someone that might have seen this language before.” Geralt gravely replied. He knew what their next step had to be, just as much as he knew how much Jaskier would despise it. He’d barely uttered the words before the bards body became tense, a clawed hand reaching out to curl into the fabric of his black tunic, right in the middle of his chest, tearing rips into it.

“Yennefer.”

“Yennefer.” Geralt confirmed, nuzzling his nose into brown locks. “I know you dislike her, little lark, but-”

“But she’s our best chance.” Black wings fluttered with anxiety, came to curl themselves around them, as they tended to do when his lark was feeling scared; _vulnerable_. “I know.”

“Best we leave in the morning. Gods know where your witch is off to now, and how long it will take us to track her down.” Vesemir stood, carefully picking the tattered book from the table.

“ _Us?_ ” Geralt questioned sharply, pulling Jaskier just a bit tighter against his side. “You plan to come with us?”

“Someone has to watch your back.” The older wolf reasoned, undeterred by Geralts open hostility towards the idea. “Poking around something like this? It could summon far more trouble than you might think. Think of that sorcerer that captured and killed the girls born during the eclipse. What do you think he’d do if he found out about your bard? And say your witch is holed out in a city, who would stay with the bard while you talk to her?”

Geralt hated that he had to concede to Vesemirs point. Things would get significantly more dangerous from here on out. They could use the backup. 

“She’s not my witch.” Geralt bit out, if only to be an ass. 

Vesemir gave no reply, only rolled his eyes as he strolled out of the room, leaving Jaskier and Geralt behind. 

“..Can we go to bed, please?” Jaskier was trembling now, holding on so tight, Geralt had no doubt that the tunic he was wearing would be beyond repair. It didn’t matter, of course. Whatever comfort he could offer his songbird, he would give.

“How about a bath first?” Geralt asked, pressing a soft kiss to the mans hair. “Hot water will soothe your muscles, help you relax.”

“Mh.” Jaskier nodded, rubbing his nose against the Witchers neck. “I’d like that.”

* * *

The bath drawn, Geralt turned his back as Jaskier pushed down his britches; not only for the sake of modesty, but also to ensure his control stayed firmly in place. His bard had been through enough today. He didn’t need to worry about Geralts urges, too. 

Once Jaskier was safely seated in the wooden tub, Geralt made for his pack, pulling out the small vile of chamomile oil he traveled with. Another, if small, concession to the feelings he hadn’t realized he’d had.

“Let me take care of you.” He said, kneeling behind the bard, cupping his hand and carefully dripping water over the bards head. Worryingly, Jaskier did not speak, simply nodded it head and let Geralt work. The Witcher couldn’t remember a time Jaskier had been this quiet, has looked this- _wary_. Tired of the world and his circumstances. 

“We’ll be okay.” Geralt spoke softly, quietly, another attempt at comforting the man. “Yen will help us figure things out. Vesemir and I, we’ll keep you safe. And once we know what you are, what you can do, things will be better.”

Again, he received no reply. Resigning himself to silence, he tended to Jaskier as gently as he could. Washed the bards hair with the oil, scraping his nails against his scalp, the way Jaskier used to do for him, many years ago. Hoping it would achieve the same effect it had on him. 

“You-” Jaskier suddenly started, then bit his lip and shook his head. 

“I?” Geralt questioned gently. 

“..You’re sure you won’t- when you meet her again..” The bard trailed off, eyes falling shut as his brows creased. It took Geralt a moment before he caught up.

“Jaskier..” He sighed, not unkindly, moving to sit beside the bard so he could look at him. “Meeting Yennefer will change nothing about how I feel about you.”

“Unless its my magic.” A tremble ran along the bards body, his wings twitching outwards and settling back against his back a moment later. “She’ll break the curse and-”

“And you will _still_ be my dearest friend. My bard. That’s assuming my feelings for you come from your magic, which I still do not believe.” 

He  _refused_ to believe it. 

That, at least, caused the bard to give a weak smile, blue eyes searching out the Witchers amber ones. 

“You always were unbearably stubborn.” He said, his voice sounding nothing but fond.

“I have no intention of becoming less so now.” Geralt returned the smile, placed his hand against Jaskiers cheek. “You will see little lark. In the morning, we’ll set off; we’ll find Yennefer, and she will tell us what we need to know.”

“Do you think-” Jaskier broke off once again, more insecure that Geralt could remember ever seeing him. “If your feelings are real- perhaps we could- I don’t know, it sounds stupid but-”

“We could go to the coast.” Geralt interrupted quietly. “Find a place far from humans. Build a home, a place for us to just.. _be_ , for a while. Together.” 

“That sounds perfect.” Jaskier breathed.

Yes, Geralt thought. That sounded quite perfect indeed. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo this is a slightly shorter chapter than I've been posting recently. I'm really sorry guys, I'm still recovering, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging for too long. The next chapter will probably take longer to write and upload as well Dx   
> Thank you so much for all the support you've guys been giving me! Every new comment, kudo and bookmark makes my day <3

A fortnight had passed since they left Kaer Morhen.

Traveling with Vesemir, as it turned out, hadn’t been half as bad as Geralt expected. The older Witcher had remained mostly listen, communicating with them as Geralt himself often did. In grunts and hums.

Jaskier seemed happy enough to fill the silence, as he always had. Prattling on about the woods around them, talked about the birds, the clouds, whatever else came to mind. When he ran out of things to say, he started to sing and hum, some melodies familiar, others Geralt had never heard before.

Between Roach, and Vesemirs mount, they’d been able to take a few more blankets, at Jaskiers request. It was an odd one, as far as requests went. Jaskier didn’t get cold anymore, nor did he seem to mind sleeping on hard grounds anymore. So why the blankets? Geralt had pondered it for a few days before finally asking.

“I just- wanted them.” Jaskier had replied, grinning sheepishly at the Witcher. “I don’t know why.”

Geralt hadn’t questioned him further.

They were making good time now, and between the three of them, camp was set up within minutes, wherever they decided to bed down for the night. Vesemir would build the fire while either Jaskier or Geralt went hunting (they both still insisted on taking turns), while whoever was left behind set up their bedrolls. For a while, all was normal.

Until one night, Geralt witnessed something rather- _peculiar_.

Jaskier had stopped cushioning the bedroll with the extra blankets and instead started placing them on the ground bordering on the bedroll’s material. Huffing and trilling away as he arranged and then _rearranged_ the blankets until they surrounded their bed in a way that seemed to please him.

Geralt turned to Vesemir, quirking a brow and nodding towards Jaskier, starting a silent conversation.

_He do this before?_

Vesemir shrugged, turning back to the fire.

_He’s your bard, how would I know?_

Geralt turned back to Jaskier, watching as the bard placed himself in the middle of his creation, legs crossed, a happy little smile on his face as he took in his work.

“What are you up to, little lark?” Geralt asked, unable to contain his curiosity at this strange behavior.

Jaskier looked up at him, then down at the blankets, seemingly confused by his own actions.

“I’m- not sure exactly.” He hummed, tilting his head a bit as he surveyed the area he had created. “It just felt right.”

“Hmm.” Unsure what to do, Geralt simply decided to ignore it. If being surrounded by rolled up blankets made his songbird happy, then so be it. They were plenty warm at night with the bards wing draped over them; they didn’t need the blanket.

As they sat around the fire, eating dinner, Vesemir spoke up.

“There should be a village, a few days out. I’d say we start our search there.”

“You think she’d be so close?” Jaskier asked, perking up a bit.

“No, but I think if we start asking after her, she’ll hear about it.” Vesemir took another bite out of his food, chewing and swallowing before continuing. “Best not get too close, don’t want anyone seeing you.”

“What do you suggest?” Geralt watched as Jaskier licked his fingers, freeing them of the juices from their meal. Quickly averting his gaze to avoid an awkward situation arising, he focused himself completely on the older wolf.

“The bard and I stay here, while you take Roach and travel to the village.”

Geralt frowned. The idea of leaving Jaskier behind- especially with Vesemir, who still hadn’t completely warmed to the bard- was not much to his liking. While he was no longer worried that blood might be spilled between the two, he did still have concerns. The older Witcher had a sharp tongue; if he used it, upset Jaskier, when Geralt wasn’t around to comfort his little lark..

“Why don’t you go?” The bard saved Geralt from asking the question himself.

“Because I’ve nothing to do with her.” Vesemir explained. “If some unknown Witcher starts asking about her, she might not deem it worth her time. But if _Geralt_ asks about her-”

“We get the idea.” Jaskier snipped, unusually hostile. “She’d want to see Geralt.”

That earned him an amused chuckle from Vesemir, and a growl from Geralt.

“We could see Ciri, too.” Geralt gently nudged his shoulder against his bards, hoping to defuse the situation with this distraction. “She still travels with Yen a fair amount; it’d be good to check in on her.”

Still pouting, Jaskier seemed to consider Geralts proposal. Finally, he gave a nod.

“That- sounds quite nice.” He finally hummed, giving a slight nod. “Though I would happily forgo a meeting with Yennefer.”

“Please, bard. Geralt and the witch haven’t laid with each other in years. There’s no need to be jealous.” Turning his head so quickly it almost hurt, Geralt swung his attention back towards Vesemir.

“How the fuck do you-”

“How do I know?” The Witcher cut in, grinning ever so slightly. “Some secrets, pup, should be kept to oneself.”

* * *

Geralt left early the next morning.

Moving out from beneath a sleepy bard and a massive wing wasn’t an easy task, especially when Geralt wasn’t exactly _wanting_ to leave. But Vesemir was right; their odds were better if it was him reaching out.

He’d just finished packing his things into the saddle bags when Jaskier finally rose, blear-eyed, with strands of chestnut hear sticking out at ridiculous angles, to bid him goodbye.

“Travel safe.” The bard said, leaning forward to peck Geralts cheek. “And be nice to my girl.”

At some point, Jaskier had simply decided Roach was ‘his girl’. Geralt hadn’t argued.

“Be good.” Geralt replied, taking hold of clawed hands, squeezing gently. He wanted badly to ask for a parting kiss, just this once; but with Vesemir around to witness his every word and action, Geralt refrained. Couldn’t quite allow himself such an open act of sentiment. “Stay save; and don’t drive Vesemir mad.”

“I would never.” Came the cheeky reply, accompanied by a mischievous grin.

“Mmhm.” Geralt hummed, allowing a small smile to curl his lips. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

They shared another moment in silence, and to Geralt surprise, Jaskier leaned in to press a soft kiss against the Witchers lips. He hadn’t expected it, yet he was grateful none the less, chaste as it was.

“Come back soon.” Jaskier whispered, ignoring the fact that Vesemir could still hear them. “Our nest will be empty without you.”

“I’ll be quick.” Geralt promised, reluctantly letting go of his larks hand. He swung himself onto Roach, gave Vesemir a nod; glanced at Jaskier for one last time; and then he was off.

* * *

Vesemir had indeed heard everything.

Nest, the bard had said. _Their_ nest.

An odd description for a bed, indeed. It could mean nothing, Vesemir reasoned. Perhaps it was simply an innocent instinct emerging in the bard. Under the open sky, where monsters and beasts alike prowled the night, being surrounded by a barrier (however useless it was as at barricading), might simply cause some sort of comfort.

If not for the little voice in the back of his head warning him that this behavior hadn’t shown up until this very night. That whatever it was _couldn’t_ be a _simple_ instinct, or he would have witnessed the behavior before.

Something was changing within the bard. Something that went deeper, seemed to rely on a biological urge, or some sort of- instinctual knowledge. Like a cat hiding away somewhere quiet and warm to birth its kittens.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got so many awesome comments, I simply couldn't stop myself x'D I needed to put this out there.  
> And guys, just to clarify again: This fic will not have any mpreg in it! I know a lot of people thought that it would, from last chapter. But I have no intention of going down that road in this one!   
> Who knows, maybe when this story is completed, I'll do a one-shot or the likes with some mpreg in it, since so many of you seem to enjoy it <3  
> I hope you guys like this chapter!   
> Thank you so much for all your support and love and all that wonderful stuff <3

Geralt took longer to return than he had hoped.

He’d barely taken a step into the villages tavern before a woman almost flung herself at him, begging for his help. Nekkers had made a nest on her fields, destroying the grain and making it impossible to tend to. She’d already lost her brother to the fiendish creatures; she begged for him to enact her revenge.

Geralt hesitated. He hadn’t planned for a job to come up. Jaskier was alone with Vesemir, would worry and fret if the Witcher didn’t return soon. As he looked down at the human before him, brown eyes wide, tears streaking her cheeks- he didn’t have the heart to refuse. So he agreed to take care of the pest; a bit of coin at hand would surely come in useful.

Before he made his way to the nekkers nest, he asked her about any mages currently in the area; specifically a black haired one, with violet eyes and the scent of lilac and gooseberries.

“There are no mages here, Sir Witcher.” She replied, shaking her head. Despite not having expected anything else from a village this size, Geralt couldn’t help feeling disappointed.

The sooner they figured things out, the sooner he could convince his bard that he truly did _love_ him; would be able to hold Jaskier in his arms, kiss and touch to his hearts content. A prospect he was rather looking forward to.

Alas, there was no use in dwelling on it. Geralt stabled Roach, the farm not too far off to simply walk, giving his trusted mount a rest.

“We’ll hurry back.” He told her, affectionately rubbing her snout, receiving a nicker in return. “I know. He’ll worry. But this won’t take long. Be good, Roach. Don’t bite anyone.”

Roach flicked her ears as if offended.

* * *

Three days had passed since Geralt had departed; Vesemir had half expected him to be back by now, riding his poor horse half to death in an attempt to return to Jaskier as quickly as possible. As it looked now, Geralt had allowed his horse a rest.

All the better, Vesemir thought. More time to observe the bards rather strange behavior.

Which, admittedly, had only become more odd by the day.

It seemed blankets alone no longer satisfied the man; after hunting for their food (vehemently refusing Vesemirs offer to go off to find food himself) Jaskier had taken to adding to his nest. He’d wander off, only to return hours later with arms full of moss, moving the bedroll out of the circled blankets and cushioning the ground below it.

“What are you doing?” Vesemir gruffed as he watched the events unfold.

“I’m making it more comfortable.” Jaskier immediately replied. “Geralt will be tired by the time he comes back, don’t you think? It’ll be nice to have more than the bedroll to sleep on. A proper nest.”

“Why do you call it a nest?” Vesemir asked, unwilling to let this- _unique_ behavior go unquestioned any longer. The bard frowned.

“You know, I’m not sure.” He glanced at the Witcher, shrugging. “It looks like a nest, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” The older conceded, taking a step closer to get a better look. “But why are you building it now? What purpose does it have?”

“..I don’t know. It feels- right? Comfortable.” If the bard was troubled by his behavior, he did not show it; simply continued to spread the moss across the ground until it filled out the entire nest.

“Hmm.” Odd behavior indeed. In fact, it reminded him very much of how birds prepared for laying eggs. Glancing at the bards stomach, it seemed completely flat. No signs of any life, be it a babe or, perhaps more disturbingly, _eggs_ within. Not that he had any idea if Jaskier would even _show_ signs of being bred. Perhaps this was preparation for something else entirely. Some beasts had mating cycles, brought on by the season.

The very idea made the man cringe.

Watching any of his sons fuck a heat crazed beast was pretty high on the list of things he’d prefer never witnessing in his life. If that was indeed the case, and Jaskier was unknowingly preparing for his cycle, Vesemir would have to find a place far, _far_ away from it.

Pondering on the possibility a bit more, he finally decided on a test of sorts.

That night, as the bard flew off to stretch his wings, the Witcher moved towards the next, snatching one of the blankets, deliberately running his hands over the bedroll and whatever else he could reach to spread his scent, before returning to his own spot.

Beasts were fiercely protective of their lairs, especially in these- _special_ circumstances. To find it suddenly missing a piece, and the scent of anyone but themselves and their mate would be upsetting at best; dangerously aggravating at worst. He kept his swords close, just in case. Wrapping the blanket around him as if for warmth, he settled in and waited.

As predicted, once the bard returned, he quickly inspected the nest. A high pitched whine bursting from him at the state it was in. He spun on the Witcher faster than the eyes could see, obvious in his attempt to refrain from snarling.

“What did you do?” He snapped, wings flared wide, puffed up in his anger.

“Grabbed a blanket.” Vesemir grunted. “Its getting colder. Figured you had enough for whatever you’re doing.”

The bard remained silent, wings twitching. Vesemir didn’t budge.

“Did you have to roll around in them to find the best?” The man finally huffed, turning his back on the Witcher once more, kneeling onto the ground to tend to his nest. “Smells like you did.”

“My apologies, bard.” Vesemir replied evenly, unwilling to anger the man any more than he already had. “I was checking for the thickest. Cold settles easier in old bones.”

Jaskier huffed again, rearranging the blankets, clearly unhappy with the spaces now left between the rolled up fabric. He said nothing more that evening, which was just as well.

He’d already proven his theory.

* * *

Four days since he’d departed, Geralt had finally returned to their camp. The nekkers hadn’t posed much of a problem; the woman had been so grateful, she’d insisted he stay for dinner in the tavern on top of the coin pouch she’d handed him. 

Geralt loathed losing time, but he had worked up quite the appetite. A bit of food wouldn’t hurt.

He’d rode through the night, as far as possible before the forest became too dense; he didn’t fancy being hit in the face repeatedly by branches. Leading Roach by the reigns, he covered less ground, but at least he’d given her a rest. She wasn’t the youngest anymore. Soon, he’d have to start considering finding a younger mount. 

Not quite yet,  though .

“Where’s Jaskier?” Geralt asked as he arrived, finding only Vesemir sitting by the fire.

“Pouting somewhere.” The older man replied, chuckling to himself.

“I’m _not_ pouting.” Came a sudden reply, petulant and clearly offended, from above. Jaskier landed elegantly right before Geralt, immediately wrapping his arms around the Witcher, nuzzling against his cheek. “The old man is a _menace_.”

“I’m not the one that nearly tore someone’s head off for getting close to their nest.” Vesemir said, clearly amused. 

“Oh don’t be _dramatic_ , I didn’t even touch you!” The bard argued, wings snapping outwards as if to emphasize just how affronted he was by the accusation. 

Geralt, albeit confused, returned the embrace, squeezing perhaps a bit too tightly. He’d missed the bard dearly; his scent, his voice, the fluttering of feathers. His blue, blue eyes, always full of warmth and joy. Yes, Geralt was pleased that they’d been reunited after too many days spent apart. 

“Aye, now why don’t you swing your bottom into the air and find us something to eat. Geralt looks like he could use a rest.” 

Jaskier pulled back, frowning slightly as the looked Geralt over. 

“He’s right. You look tired.” 

“You’d be tired too after no sleep and taking down a nest of nekkers.” Geralt replied, amused. 

“Why didn’t you sleep, you foolish man.” Jaskier pursed his lips, giving Geralt an accusing glare. 

“Wanted to come back soon as I could.” Geralt admitted, keeping his words soft in hopes of Vesemir not listening. 

“You can sleep until your bards brings us dinner. Off you go, you winged beast.” 

Where before, Vesemirs words had been tinged with clear disdain, they now held little else but barely concealed fondness, leaving Geralt to wonder what had transpired in the days he’d been gone. 

“Old man.” Jaskier snipped, though he couldn’t quite keep a straight face, a smile tugging at his lips. He turned to Geralt once more, tapping a clawed finger against his chest. “You better rest until I’m back, or I’ll be quite cross with you.” 

“We can’t have that.” Geralt answered, rather amused with his bards attitude. 

“No, we can’t.” Jaskier agreed. “Or you won’t get to sleep in our _almost_ perfect nest.”

“Almost?” Geralt asked, quirking an eyebrow at the bard.

“It seems we’ve lost a blanket to someone.” Jaskier huffed, glancing at Vesemir, who did nothing but grin. “But I _graciously_ accepted that his need was greater than ours, of course.” 

“You’re as gracious as a pissed off bruxa, bard.” The older Witcher teased.

“And you will be a _very_ sorry Witcher when I fly you up a mountain and _leave_ you at there to freeze!” 

The banter was refreshing, considering how their relationship had begun; he’d be much less worried about leaving Jaskier alone with Vesemir from now on. The bard turned to Geralt, rolling his eyes.

“I better go and find something edible, or he might starve.” Geralt hummed, allowing a smile. 

“Stay safe.” He said, pressing his forehead to the bards for just a second. 

“Make sure he doesn’t steal any more blankets.” Jaskier whispered in reply, before taking a step back and spreading his wings, quickly rising into the air. 

“I hear that!” Vesemir called after him, giving a soft grunt. 

“It seems you two are getting along.” Geralt commented as he sat beside the older wolf, allowing himself to rest his wary bones. 

“We need to talk.” 

The atmosphere quickly changed at the Witchers words, and Geralt turned to face Vesemir. 

“What about?” 

“Your bard.” Vesemir nodded towards the nest. “This. It means trouble.” 

Geralt frowned. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Think about it, Geralt. When do animals nest?” The question seemed a ridiculous one, but Geralt answered, if slowly; giving Vesemir the benefit of the doubt.

“When they mate, and have their young.” 

“Indeed. Now look at what your bard is doing.” Geralt turned his attention to the nest. It was indeed missing a blanket, as Jaskier had mentioned before. But he could also make out subtle changes. Most peaked out from below the bedroll. The spot left open from a blanket being removed was filled with thin branches, covered in shrubbery. 

“He hasn’t done this before, has he?”

“..No.” Geralt admitted, a sense of dread rising in his chest. Did this mean-

“Since your bard isn’t showing any signs of being with child, if its even possible, I’d argue he’s closing in on his mating cycle.” Vesemir helpfully provided. “Although we wouldn’t know if his kind showed at all.” 

G eralt remained silent. He didn’t know how to deal with this. He’d promised Jaskier that he’d respect his boundaries; that they’d refrain from-  _sharing_ themselves with each other. How would his cycle be? Would he simply behave normal, safe for being territorial about their nest?

Would he become needy and affection, cling to Geralt, his scent sweet and inviting as he rubbed his lithe body against him- 

“Dear gods boy.” Vesemir growled, glaring. “Its not even started. Control yourself.” 

Geralt grunted, inhaling sharply as he attempted to control his arousal. 

“What will we do?” He asked, just to get his mind off the images of a writhing, desperate bard forming in his minds eye. 

“We hope we have more time to prepare. Find a cave, or an abandoned village where you can tuck him away and take care of his- _needs_. Preferably somewhere very far away from where I can hear you.”

Geralt gave another grunt.

“You haven’t spoken to him about this theory of yours?” He questioned, glancing at Vesemir. 

“I thought it best to leave that conversation to you.” The older man said. “Probably take it better coming from you.”

_Great_ , Geralt thought. 

“Whats the worst that can happen.” Vesemir grumbled, sensing Geralts displeasure. 

What indeed.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeek another chapter! Woop! I hope you guys like it <3  
> And as always, thank you all for your wonderful support <3 Your comments and kudos are what make my day, and keep me writing <3

Jaskier had returned shortly after Geralts conversation with Vesemir. If he could sense the Witchers uneasiness, he said nothing of it. Simply handed the game he’d caught off to Vesemir with a little snip about _helping out,_ after Jaskier had so generously allowed him to take away from the nest he’d made.

While Vesemir worked, Jaskier settled beside Geralt, who’d indeed laid down in their- _nest_. It was more comfortable now, he had to admit. Jaskier had done well.

He ignored the pointed glances the older Witcher kept giving him. He knew what had to be done. But first, they’d have dinner.

They ate, and Jaskier hummed and cooed, happily devouring his food as he wiggled about in the nest, one wing against his back, the other wrapped around Geralt; smooth, silky feathers brushing against Geralts arm and side.

In any other situation, it might have been comforting. Now, all it did was further his anxiety.

What if Vesemir was right? What if all this, the nesting, the almost uninterrupted affection, touching Geralt at all times with his hands or wings. And if it was- how would they  _handle_ it? 

The uncertainty of it all tied his stomach into knots, and after two bites of his own meal, Geralt laid it aside. He couldn’t eat, not now.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, brows furrowed in worry. “Are you alright? You’ve barely touched your food.”

“Hmm.” Geralt let his eyes fall closed, just for a second. Steeled himself to the conversation he knew he had to have, and so very much wanted to avoid. 

“Geralt?”

“We need to talk, Jask.” Geralt forced out. 

“What about?” Jaskier looked even more worried now, turning to face the Witcher, his own food forgotten. 

“About.. you.” Geralt continued, slowly. “The nest. Why you’re- _making_ it. Specifically.”

“I already told Vesemir.” The bard answered, confused. “I don’t know _why_ I made it, I just did.”

“Well, Vesemir-” A cough interrupted Geralt, and he scowled. “ _We_ have a theory.”

“O- kay. So tell me then.”

Geralt sighed once more. Wished he didn’t have to be the one delivering the news. Wished, in fact, that he was very,  _very_ far away from here.

“What do you know about how- how animals mate, Jaskier?” 

“..Nothing? Why would I?” 

Fuck. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. The story of his life.

“They- hmm.” Geralt cleared his throat, grasping for the right words to answer his bard, without upsetting him. “Well. Depending on the animal, some- hmm. There are those that only mate and.. _breed_ during certain seasons. With others its about.. proximity of a mate, or perhaps recovering from a former birth. Giving their body time to recover, and their little ones to mature enough to leave their care.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Jaskier, now thoroughly confused, if the stillness of his wings was anything to go buy, reached out to place his hand above Geralts.

“Because.” Geralt continued on, feeling his throat constrict, as if he was choking on the words. “Because when they feel their time nearing they.. _prepare_. Some build burrows in the earth- make it to be soft. Safe for them and their mate, and, eventually, their young.”

No reply came. Jaskier was still looking at him, blue eyes narrowed, lips pressed together. 

_Please don’t force me to spell it out for you_ ; Geralt thought.  _Please understand on your own._

“Ah to hell with it.” Vesemir grunted. “You’re nesting, bard. The theory is that whatever you are, you experience a mating cycle, and its coming on _soon_. That’s why you suddenly started nesting, and why you can’t keep your hands off Geralt.”

“..Nesting.” Jaskier echoed, quietly. 

“Yes.” Vesemir pressed on. “Now there are different kind of mating cycles, from what we know. Some animals simply experience a change of sent, but are unbothered by it; while some require a mate to _tend_ to them.” 

“So what you’re saying.” Jaskier mumbled. “Is that- not only is there a possibility that I came from a race of monsters, hated by the other inhabitants of this continent- but that I might end up like a- a bitch in _heat_?”

“Its a possibility. You’re nesting, and quite obviously protective over that nest.” The older Witcher confirmed. “If this does happen, it would be unwise to continue traveling towards human settlements. Even this camp is too close. We can’t anticipate how this would effect you, and your behavior.” 

“You think I could become violent?” The tremble in the bards voice broke Geralts heart; he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Jaskier, to promise him that everything would be alright, that they’d figure this out before it became an issue- except that would be a downright lie. 

They didn’t  _know_ if things would be alright. 

“But it- _this_ has never happened before. Why now?” The whispered questioned earned a shrug from Vesemir.

“Your kind seems to be long lived. It might be that you only have a cycle every decade. Could be that you didn’t have a viable mate around you. But with Geralt here.. with this bond between you. It might have triggered it.”

More silence. Geralt chanced a glance at his bard; watching as Jaskier lowered his head, distress written clearly all over his face. 

“Jaskier-” Geralt tried, squeezing the bards hand in his. “Whatever happens. We’ll manage.”

“Manage?” Jaskier scoffed, turning his head away from the Witchers, eyes clenched shut. “ _Manage?!_ You’re telling me that I might- might _hurt_ people, because of some- some messed up mating cycle! That I might not have a _choice_ but to _fuck_ someone, for however long this cycle lasts! What- What if it takes months, what if I hurt you, or Vesemir or turn into a- _a fucking beast!_ ”

Jaskier stood, ripping his hand away from Geralts, his distressed whine echoing into the night.

“This can’t be happening.” He mumbled, pacing, wings twitching about as he fretted. “All of this, its too _much_. I can’t deal with this, I just- I _can’t_.”

Panic seeped into the bards scent, acidic and ugly, completely swallowing what Geralt had come to know as Jaskiers scent. Souring it beyond recognition. 

His body moved before his mind did.

He caught Jaskiers wrist and pulled him against his chest, wrapped his arms around the bards hip and held him close.

“You can.” He soothed, delicately nuzzling the bards cheek. “You’re so strong, little lark. Gone through so much. And you came out on top of it all. This will be no different.” 

A sweet keen, and Jaskier had his face pressed against the Witchers neck, trembling hands latching onto broad shoulders, holding on just tight enough to feel the prick of sharp claws against his skin. 

“How can you say that? This isn’t a brawl Geralt, I can’t- fight or charm my way out of it. This is my body, my biology _forcing_ me to- to mate, or breed. What if I try to-” He broke off, swallowed. Then started again, weakly. “We agreed not to lay with each other until we’ve figured everything else out.”

“If you do need someone to help you, during this. I will do it.” He felt Jaskier tense, that pretty mouth opening to protest, but Geralt wouldn’t allow it. Not this time. “No, little lark. I’d do this for you whether we were lovers, or simply friends. You have no control over this; you didn’t bring this on purposely to tempt me back into your bed. In fact, it was you who refused to lay with me until you were sure I wasn’t being manipulated; purposely or otherwise.”

“I’d be taking advantage of you.” Jaskier whimpered, shaking his head rapidly. Brown hair brushing against Geralts stubble, wings flapping. “Can’t I just- Wait this out? You could go with Vesemir, I’d find somewhere safe and just-”

“No.” Vesemir cut in sharply, standing up himself. “That is _not_ an option. We have no idea if you will remain _you_ , during that time. If your mind becomes clouded by instinct, you might seek out your mate. Geralt cannot be anywhere around human beings. Or worse, what if some poor fuck wanders into your path my mistake, and you _do_ become violent?”

“Damn it Vesemir.” Geralt growled, clutching the bard tighter, glaring at the old wolf over his shoulder. 

“Quiet, pup. You know I’m right.” Vesemir growled right back. “You wanted my help and you have it. Your bard might not be dangerous on his own, when he’s calm and lucid, but a beast in heat is a beast in heat. They can be territorial, they can be aggressive, and Jaskier _could_ turn crazed. To leave him alone would be stupid, and irresponsible. A catastrophe just waiting to happen.” 

A s much as Geralt wanted to punch the man in the face, the rational part of his mind couldn’t argue with the points made. The more primal part wanted him to capture Jaskier and drag him off, take him somewhere safe, far away from the Witchers cutting words.

“It might not come to all that.” Geralt tried to reason, turning his attention back to the trembling bard. “It might still turn out fine. Could just be a change of scent to deal with, like Vesemir said. We’ll find somewhere safe to go, and wait. Take this step by step.”

Jaskier, after a long pause, finally nodded.

“Does that mean I have to leave my nest?” He asked, suddenly feeling so small in the Witchers strong arms. 

“We can take the blankets. Start building another nest. Somewhere with walls surrounding it, more moss. Steal back that blanket Ves has.” 

To his relief, he seemed to have said the right thing. Jaskier relaxed against him, sighing deeply.

“This is going to be hell, isn’t it?”

“It it is.” Geralt said. “We’ll go through it together.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly longer chapter today, cause I wanted to set up Jask's cycle a bit more before gettin' down to the smutt. Heh.   
> I hope you guys enjoy it, even if it doesn't actually have any of the heat action in it!  
> Thank you all again so much for your amazing support <3 You guys and your lovely comments are what keep me smiling and writing! <3

Geralt was pacing.

Back and forth, from one end of their camp to the other, again and again.

“Settle down pup, you’re driving me mad.” Vesemir grunted, only to receive an angry growl in return. If he _could_ settle down, he fucking would have.

None of them had gotten any sleep after their conversation. Jaskier had insisted to scout the area himself, arguing that he could cover more ground on his own. He was right, of course, and the quicker they found a place where the bard could settle down and nest, the better. Geralt hadn’t liked it, not one bit, but he’d given a short nod and Jaskier had launched himself into the air, ever graceful. That’s when the pacing started.

Geralt hadn’t expected him back soon; finding a safe place for them during Jaskiers cycle wouldn’t be easy. He hoped for a cave, somewhere far enough to slim the chances of being discovered down to nil. But it also had to be accessible enough to allow Vesemir to provide them with food and water, should Jaskier refuse to let Geralt leave their temporary home. The old wolf would have to be careful, in case his presence was seen as a danger; he’d warned them that Jaskier could become quite territorial; chances were the bard wouldn’t be receptive to another being around his nest.

By noon the following day, Geralt was so anxious, he could barely think straight. He ground his teeth and clenched his fists, his skin crawling with the feeling of  _wrong wrong wrong._

His mate had been gone for too long. He should be out there,  _looking_ for him. After all, a number of things could have happened to his lovely nightingale. The cycle could have started, he could have been injured, discovered by humans and somehow taken down- 

The only thing keeping Geralt in camp the fact that it was damn near impossible to track something flying through the air. Even a Witcher needed more to go on than a general direction. 

Vesemir, for his part, seemed calm. He’d gone out to fill their waterskins and gather berries and mushrooms; anything they could keep close to their nest that wouldn’t spoil immediately. 

“Some animals don’t eat or drink at all.” Vesemir has explained after Geralt gave him a questioning glance. “But I thought it best if you had some rations with you, just in case.” 

A good idea, Geralt had to admit. Even if the older Witchers calm disposition did grate on him. 

Why wasn’t Vesemir worried too? It’d been so,  _so_ long since Jaskier had left and what if- His mind was about to conjure more terrifying images when suddenly, he was tackled from behind. His first instinct to grab whatever had attacked him, fling it over his head and off his back. 

“I found the perfect place.” A familiar voice purred into his ear, playfully nipping at its shell. 

_Jaskier_ .

Abandoning his plan of defense, Geralt instead turned, grabbing the bard by the hips, pulling him tight. 

“Took you long enough.” He growled, grateful Jaskier was back, but still unhappy with his long absence; nosing along the bards neck to inhale his scent, running his broad hands along the mans chest and sides, his back, anything he could easily reach; checking for any injuries. 

“Mm.” Jaskier hummed, allowing himself to be looked over by Geralt without complaint. “I wanted to make sure we were safe.” 

Geralt grunted, moving his face from the bards neck to press their foreheads together. 

“Found a place, then?” Vesemir interrupted, causing Geralt to scowl. 

“I did!” Jaskier chirped, wiggling around in his Witchers grip until they were chest to back, Geralts arms wrapped around his middle and holding tight. “Its a cave, a bit up a mountain. And there’s a lake right at the foot of it! No human villages for miles and miles around it.”

That, indeed, sounded perfect. An elevated position meant they could keep an eye out on anyone approaching, should anyone come looking for them. A lake below would allow for easy refilling of their waterskins,  and taking baths, if possible. None of them were sensitive to the bacteria that sometimes accumulated in standing water, so there’d be no need to boil it before consumption. 

“How long will it takes us to get there?” Geralt asked, nuzzling his nose into the bards brown locks, a rumble of content vibrating in his chest at his scent. This was exactly where Jaskier was supposed to be, _all the fucking time_. Wrapped in Geralts arms.

“Two days if we rest at night, I’d say.” Jaskier replied, turning his head to snatch a kiss from the Witcher, only to freeze a second later, looking awfully guilty. Geralt couldn’t stand the expression on the bards face, quickly remedying it by stealing a kiss of his own. He knew what had caused that look, of course. The had agreed to spend the bards cycle together, nothing more. Now they were trading kisses and holding each other in ways they’d agreed not to. 

He couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“Two days, huh?” Vesemir huffed, shaking his head. “Lets hope we make it. The two of you are already being effected.”

“We are?” Geralt asked, somewhat surprised that he was being included in the old wolfs statement as well. 

“Look at yourself, pup. If you pawed at him any more, you’d have him bare as the day he was born.” Vesemir scolded, though his tone was fond. “Gather your things, and we’ll set out.” 

* * *

Their first day of travel went well.

While Geralt and Jaskier were much more affection, much more inclined to touch each other, there was no trouble. They made good time, covering a decent amount of ground, and they ate well that evening. 

Once the sun had completely vanished from the sky, they laid down to rest; Geralt wanting to get an early start and Vesemir (somewhat amused) advised to get as much sleep as possible, as they’d surely be needing much of their energy soon. 

Geralt had huffed at the implication, pulled Jaskier a bit closer to his chest, and closed his eyes. Vesemir was just poking fun at them. It wasn’t a problem. 

The next day, however,  did not go as smoothly.

Geralt woke alone, with Jaskier no longer beside him, and it  _irked_ him; though he didn’t know why. 

Rising from his bedroll, he shot a glance at Vesemir. The older man sitting next to the fire, watching the flames dance across the wood feeding it. 

“He’s hunting.” Vesemir offered, answering Geralts question before he’d even asked it. 

“Hmm.” It shouldn’t have bothered him; Jaskier went hunting on his own all the time. Provided for them every other day. Now, however.. well, _Geralt_ could provide for them. There was no need for his little dove to leave their camp, endanger himself.. 

“Going to take a piss.” Geralt grumped, moving off into the woods, hoping to calm the irritation rising in his mind. Relieving himself was a good excuse for a few moments alone. Not that they had any modesty, life of the path didn’t lend itself do that, he could live without pissing in front of Vesemir. Not to mention that the scent of piss could attract animals to their camp. 

He returned to find Jaskier sitting beside the old wolf, watching as Vesemir prepared  the fish he’d apparently caught. Geralt was reminded of the last time his bard had gone fishing, his own reaction to seeing his bard wet and dripping- and now Jaskier was sitting right next to Vesemir, pants soaking and hair dripping onto the ground and-  a sudden burst of fierce possessiveness, and an even stronger drive to protect what was  _his_ enveloped the Witchers chest.

Before he knew what he was doing, Geralt had crossed the distance between them, grabbed Jaskier by the neck and hauled him up, closer to  _himself_ , and further away from  _Vesemir_ .

“Geralt?!” The bard squeaked, immediately going boneless against the Witcher as the grip on his neck tightened, allowing himself to be manhandled. Geralt didn’t stop until he had Jaskier hidden behind Roach as much as possible, growling low in his chest. An aggressive sound, so unlike the one he made when he was pleased with Jaskier.

“One Witcher not enough for you?” He asked, words rumbling out of him, voice lower than he himself had ever heard it before.

  
“Wh- Of course you are.” Jaskier cooed, tilting his head to the side in an instinctual, submissive gesture. “You’re mine, my wolf, my Alpha. You’re everything I could ever want.”

“Yet you prance around another half naked and soaked.” Geralt accused, though the bite had left his tone. He leaned forward, pressing his face to the spot where the bards neck met his shoulder, inhaling deeply. “You remember the last time you did that?” 

“Oh Geralt.” Jaskier gave a pleased little sigh, wrapping his arms around the Witchers neck. “Is that what this is about? You’re _jealous_? Of _Vesemir_?” 

Geralt grunted. When said out loud, it did seem a tad ridiculous. Of course Jaskier hadn’t been trying to seduce another. Nor had Vesemir been trying to take what was Geralts. And yet..

“Mine.” He huffed, nipping at delicate skin until it turned pink and tender. “Mine.”

“Yours.” Jaskier confirmed, gently running the tips of his claws along the white wolfs scalp. “Don’t worry, Alpha. You’re all I want.” 

Placated, Geralt gave one last nip to the bard, and rejoining Vesemir at the fire. If Vesemir noticed Geralt keeping Jaskier just a bit closer to himself than usual, he did not comment. 

They packed their things after they’d each ate their fill, and continued on their way. Geralt couldn’t help but keep a close eye on his bard at all times; needing to keep Jaskier close enough to touch at all times, always in his sight, never too far to grasp.  He’d been protective of his little lark before, of course; it seemed now that the cycle wasn’t only influencing Jaskier, as Geralt was experiencing rather-  _primal_ urges of his own.

_ Scent him, mark him with your teeth, your spend, make him yours _ ; whispered a voice in his mind, one he found rather hard to ignore. 

They’d be there soon. Jaskier had said two days. They’d arrive the next morning, build their nest. It could wait. It  _ would _ wait. 

Jaskier deserved more than an improvised nest on a hard dirt floor, not at all safe from wandering eyes and greedy hands. Deserved to be tucked away somewhere soft and warm, where Geralt could dote on him, feed and care for him,  cater to his mates every whim. 

He just had to get through the night. 

* * *

“I- I think it’s going to start soon.” Jaskier said, not an hour later. They’d just begun setting up camp for the night, Geralt constantly keeping close and putting himself between his lark and the older Witcher; if only to settle the need he felt to protect the bard a bit. 

At the statement, bother Witchers heads snapped up, abandoning their tasks completely. Vesemir, wisely, stayed where he was; allowing Geralt to keep his mind as calm as was possible at the moment.

“You’re sure?” Geralt asked, taking hold of Jaskiers hand as he spoke, squeezing gently. “How can you tell?”

“I’m getting really warm.” Jaskier mumbled, cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink, his beauty only made more ethereal by the setting suns golden glow against his skin. “And I- I really want to build a nest, Geralt, right- right now.”

G eralt glanced around. No, it wasn’t an option. They were too exposed, too many chances to be attacked, nowhere to tuck Jaskier away while he dealt with any danger, anyone coming to  _take_ what didn’t  _belong_ to them.

The Witcher grabbed the bag filled with blankets, then another which held their waterskins and clean clothes; a second set to change into for both of them all they’d brought along.

“Go.” He said, handing both items to Jaskier. “I’ll find you.”

The words pulled a whine from the bard, wings snapping forward to envelope the Witcher, clearly unhappy with the very suggestion of leaving Geralt behind.

“I’ll join you in a few hours.” Geralt soothed, embracing his lark, pecking the delicate, pink lips before. “You can’t carry me and the satchels, and you’ll be able to make us another perfect nest. Soft and warm for your heat.” 

“Want you to come with me.” Jaskier fussed, snuffling at the Witchers neck, ready to drop the satchels onto the ground. “I can build it here, we’ll be okay-”

“No.” Geralt growled, firmly taking hold of the bards chin to tilt his head back, forcing Jaskier to face him. “Its not safe here. Be good for me, now. Build our nest. I’ll come after you the second you leave; it’ll take time, no matter how fast I run but we can’t risk your cycle hitting in the middle of nowhere.” 

Jaskier yowled pitifully, but nodded at Geralts stern gaze. 

“You’ll join me?” He asked, one last time. 

“I won’t stop running until I’m with you, little lark. Now go.” 

* * *

Geralt kept his promise. Ran through the woods while dogging trees, fallen logs and roots sticking up from the ground; his heart beating faster than it had since he’d received his mutagens. He knew which way to go; it was only a matter of time before he caught up to his lark. 

Hopefully, by the time he arrived, Jaskier would have the nest ready. Wouldn’t already be in the throws of his heat, just in case there was more work to be done.  He loathed that he hadn’t been able to take part in building it; he’d been so sure he’d get the chance to help this time around. 

_Next time;_ he thought, only to furiously shake his head, nearly missing a tree, he was so distracted. They didn’t know if there’d be a next time. 

Geralt lost all grasp on time as he continued on, further, further, drawn forward by the image of a defenseless bard crying in his nest, waiting for his mate. Geralt wouldn’t disappoint his mate. Not now. 

Not ever.

Finally, the lake came into view. Only a few more minutes, and he’d be exactly where he was meant to be. The thought alone spurred him on, even as his muscles protested the prolonged effort, picking up speed. 

There it was, a lake at the foot of a mountain, a small (easily defended) path leading up to the caves opening. He briefly wondered if it had been inhabited before Jaskier found it, or had laid bare and empty. 

The thought quickly forgotten when he heard a keen he knew all too well, high pitched and in definite distress.

“ _Alpha!_ ”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless fucking smut, and I stand by it! ..Seriously tho, this turned out a bit more graphic than even I had imagined. Heh.  
> I do hope you guys enjoy it! I kept you all waiting for so long, I really wanted to deliver on this one!  
> Thank you again, every single one of you, for all your support! Your comments keep me smiling and writing <3
> 
> Oh! And for everyone that doesn't know "Cat" is a potion that allows Witchers to see even better in the dark!

“ _Alpha!_ ”

Geralt ran; mind blank and already reaching behind his back for his silver sword. Ready to slaughter whatever it was that had caused his bard pain.

The entire army of Nilfgaard could have stood between them, and Geralt would have killed every single man, never slowing, until he had Jaskier cradled against his chest. Safe and warm and smelling of sunshine and honeysuckle.

He ran up the path within seconds, a burst of adrenaline chasing away the aches in his legs, pushing him forward, closer to his mate.

The opening of the cave was larger than it had seemed, and Geralt burst into the darkness within with a growl, sword in hand, ready to slaughter whatever beast was threatening _his_ bard.

Geralt skidded to a halt, frantically searching the cave; fumbled for the small pouch at his hip for the potion he’d need to see even better in the complete darkness. 

“Alpha!” Another call, this time from deeper within the cave, and Geralt gave up on the notion of dosing himself with Cat, rushing forward with his sword held high. 

The scene unfolding before him not at all what he’d expected.

There was Jaskier, sitting in the nest he’d presumably been assembling for hours, clutching a blanket against his chest, sobbing into the soft fabric. 

_Safe_ .

Geralt had only a moment to take in the sight before Jaskier was already on him, wrapping himself around the Witcher like an octopus; arms around Geralts neck, legs around his hips, wings flapping so hard he stirred the dust up from the ground. 

“Oh that _vile_ man!” The bard howled, shoving his face rather forcefully against the Witchers neck. Confused, Geralt could do little more than return the embrace, rubbing circles into the bards back in hopes of calming the rather upset man. 

“What happen, little lark?” Geralt rumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

“He put a _hole_ in our _best_ blanket.” The bard whined, his grasp on Geralt turning almost painfully tight. “A _hole_ , Alpha! How _dare_ he! I can’t believe I lent it to him in the first place, oh, I should have _known_ -”

All of this. Over a hole in a blanket.

Geralt wasn’t sure if he was amused or exasperated at the theatrics. 

He ended up feeling incredibly fond.

“Hush, sweet bird.” He hummed, moving them towards the nest that’d been prepared for them. “We’ll buy a new one.”

“But this one smelled like you the _most_.” Jaskier wailed, not moving a single inch, even as Geralt got onto his knees, hard stone floor cushioned by a bedroll and, unless he was way off, more moss. His mate had evidently kept busy. 

“I’ll make sure the new one does, too.” Gods above, Jaskier really had no right to be this endearing after scaring the living fuck out of Geralt. Yet here he was, holding a trembling, upset bard because Vesemir had put a hole in his blanket, adoring him even more. “Sleep with it every night, til it’s just like you want it, hm?”

Jaskier sniffled, nodded his head softly.

“..A better one than the old one.” He demanded rather softly. “Softer. For our next nest.”

“A better one.” Geralt easily agreed. Anything to please and comfort his distraught songbird. 

“No lending it to anyone. _Especially_ Vesemir.” Geralt didn’t have to see Jaskiers face to know he was pouting. He couldn’t help but smile.

“It will be for our nest only.” He agreed once more. 

“Good.” Jaskier, now seemingly placated, nuzzled against Geralts neck. “You were faster than I thought you’d be. And you’re sweaty.” 

“Are you telling me I _smell_ , little lark?” Geralt asked, amused. “I did just as I promised; ran as hard as I could to get to you. Was half convinced the cycle would already be upon you by the time I got here.”

“Mh. Making the nest helped.” Jaskier hummed, glancing around as if he’d just been reminded of their surroundings. “I still feel too warm. Especially here.”

He took hold of Geralts hand, pressing it to his middle, right over his belly. Geralt couldn’t help but frown. Jaskiers skin did radiate an unusual heat, but the patch of skin his palm pressed against now was warmer yet. 

“Does it hurt?” He asked, running the tips of his fingers across the bards skin, checking for any abnormality. 

“Not at all.” The bard shrugged, his wings twitching with the movement. “Its just hot to the touch.”

“Hmm.” Geralt couldn’t say he’d ever witnessed anything of the like. If it wasn’t painful, perhaps it was just another oddity of Jaskiers changed form. 

It lead him to wonder what else would be different during this heat. 

“Geralt?” 

“Yes, little lark?”

“..You _are_ a bit smelly. Lets go bathe in the lake.” 

Geralt laughed. 

* * *

The sun was rising by the time Geralt had been able to rest. After their bath, Jaskier had insisted to go out for more moss to soften their nest. Geralt had thought it plenty soft, all things considered, but did not argue. Building the structure seemed to have halted the heats progression; if only temporarily. 

He’d dutifully followed the bard into the trees, partially to assist with his gathering, partially to sooth the aching need to keep Jaskier  _close_ .  While his lark seemed rather content with the situation, Geralt felt more on edge, eager to return to the cave where he could bed down with his mate and rest for however long Jaskiers body allowed. 

It wasn’t until they both could carry no more that Jaskier seemed satisfied, beaming at Geralt as they made their way back; coos of delight echoing quietly around them as Jaskier damn near  _skipped_ with happiness. 

The smile alone had been worth the time they’d spent; and while at first, Geralt had indeed tried to help the man arrange their little nest, he’d quickly learned that this was not the part Jaskier wanted assistance for. The bard fussed over every bit of moss put down, moving it around in patterns that made little sense to Geralt, until finding the perfect (and rather random) spot for that particular chunk of flora. He’d resigned himself to simply sitting beside Jaskier, back leaned against the cave wall, watching his process with silent amusement. 

Y et once the moss had been placed, and the bedroll rested above it, a large wing bumped against his side. 

He was handed a blanket which he rolled up under the watchful eyes of his bard, before handing it back to be inspected. A chirp signaling that he’d done well, and was allowed to continue. So, Geralt took the next blanket, repeating the process while Jaskier arranged them. 

They didn’t speak; there was no need to. Jaskier focused on the task at hand, his trills and coos the only interruption to the silence. 

The suns first rays of light creeping over the horizon by the time they’d finished. 

Jaskier stood, sweeping his gaze over his creation, scrutinizing every inch of it. 

“Perfect.” The bard sighed, and Geralt couldn’t deny that, while very glad Jaskier was happy, he was quite relieved. The strain of running through the dark for hours finally getting to him. 

J askier laid down, and only a split second later, Geralt was pulled into the nest by clawed hands, urged on by black feathers brushing against his back. As if he needed to be encouraged to join his beautiful mate.

“Sleep.” Jaskier whispered, head resting on the Witchers chest, eyes already shut. 

Geralt wasn’t generally good at taking orders. 

This one, he followed gladly.

* * *

Geralt startled awake, immediately alert, though somewhat disoriented. 

How much time had passed since they’d fallen asleep? And what had-

A soft mewl interrupted his thoughts. His head snapped to the right, where the sound had clearly come from, for a second fearing he’d somehow injured his bard by accident in his sleep when-

“Please.” 

A word whimpered so quietly, so desperately, it broke Geralts heart.

“Anything.” He rasped, pulling the bard close only to think better of it a second later; pushing the bard to lay on his back so Geralt could cover him with his own, broader form. “What do you need little lark?”

“ _Alpha!_ ” Came the sobbed reply, claws running along the Witchers back with just enough force to leave behind red lines along his skin. 

Geralt couldn’t help but growl in reply, feeling the bards cock hard and hot against him, and gods his  _scent_ \- so much stronger than the last time they’d been like this, so much more  _potent_ . It felt like being punched in the gut by a battering ram, but instead of clouding his mind with pain, it was  _need_ that enveloped him,  his thoughts going fuzzy.

He couldn’t give in just yet; had to hear, just one more time-

“Fuck, Jask, sweet lark, tell me what you _need_.” 

“ _Breed me!_ ”

A ny control Geralt might have clung to died away in that very moment. Higher brain function melting like snow under the sun. 

Within seconds, he had the bard on his hands and knees, wings spread wide in a display of desperate need. Had he still been capable of it, Geralt would have thanked the gods for his mates foresight; both of them having stayed bare of clothing after their shared bath. 

But there was little left in his mind but  _claim_ ,  _mark_ ,  _fill_ ,  _breed!_ He fully intended to do all of that. 

Roughly grabbing the bard by the back of his neck he shoved him forward and down, until the little larks cheek was pressed against their bedroll, his ass still raised in the air, knees trembling at he spread them with a needy moan, but not moving an inch beyond that.

“Good.” Geralt growled, watching as the single word chased a shiver along the bards spine, pulling another lustful sound from parted lips. “So good.”

Grazing his hands over pert mounds, thumbs dipping into the cleft framed oh so nicely, he quickly encountered the same slickness of before. Except there was more,  _so much more_ ,  steadily dripping out of the small, pink opening. 

Geralt wanted to howl with pleasure, throw his head back and  _roar_ , let the entire world know that  _this_ was  _his_ . Every sound, every droplet of slick and seed was caused by him, and  _his_ to claim. 

Geralt would take it all. Would take care of his bard as no other had before. Would make the little lark scream, cover him in his scent, his spend, until Jaskier smelled of no one else ever again. Animals and other Witchers alike would know that he  _belonged_ to the White Wolf, until the day he died.

“Please, Alpha, Alpha-” Reduced to babbling, Jaskier could do little else but arch his back even further, wings snapping back as they had before, begging to be touched; feathers growing slick as the small bumps, so well hidden beneath them, started to swell and leak. 

Geralt rumbled in reply, draping himself across the bards back, mindless with desire. He needed to get  _inside_ his bard, right fucking now, ruin that tight little hole for anyone else, fill him with seed until it gushed out whenever he pulled out and left him empty. 

His hips snapped forward, rubbing his cock against the wet, leaking body being offered to him so sweetly;  the thought of using a hand to line himself up one Geralt currently wasn’t capable of. It was all he could do to grab one wing, search for the bump he knew brought so much pleasure, and press down on it.  A flood of fluid immediately rushing from the little gland, only heightening his frenzy. 

O ne second, Geralt was still frantically rutting against his mates ass, the next Jaskier bucked his hips, pushed backwards and then- 

Geralt howled out as he his entire cock was suddenly engulfed by a hot, wet channel, muscles clamping down on him so forcefully he felt dizzy with it. Jaskier gave a cry of pleasure, his channel rippling along Geralts cock, wings spreading wide as he came messily onto their bedroll.

Had this been any other situation, Geralt would have stopped, allowing his bard to shiver through the aftershocks of his peak patiently; not wanting to overstimulate the beautiful body beneath him. 

Now, stopping plainly was not an option. 

Jaskier hadn’t even stopped striping the bedroll white before the Witcher was thrusting, hard,  _deep_ , determined to fuck his mate full of himself by all means necessary. Turning his head, he buried his face into slick feathers, lapping at a small gland, desperate for the taste as he ruthlessly fucked into his mate.

Jaskier, for his part, did not seem to mind in the slightest. The bard was rocking back against each thrust, chest heaving as he panted, his moans and whines like a siren call, beckoning Geralt closer, enticing him beyond anything he’d ever experienced. 

“Again.” He growled out after a particularly well aimed thrust pulled a sweet moan of “ _Alpha_ ” from his larks lips. 

“ _Alpha!_ ” Jaskier immediately whined, wrecked by their rough coupling, his hole open and greedy, swallowing every inch Geralt gave him hungrily. The Witcher was tempted to pull back, to watch his cock sink into the bards heat, but removing himself from the sweet nectar of his wings was too high a price to pay. 

He gorged himself on it, swallowing down one mouthful after the other, biting into the glands when he became too impatient to wait for another gush.  No matter how much he drank, how much he filled his stomach with, it was never  _enough_ .

Jaskier came again, clenching down, yowling and writhing beneath his Alpha, and still desperate for more. Geralt lost count as to how many times he brought his mate-  _his omega_ , his mind screamed- to climax. Only knew the warmth of the body below him, the sweet, sinful sounds he wrung from Jaskier with each thrust. If he’d come himself, he couldn’t tell; all senses honed in on his songbird, his miraculous, gorgeous little lark. 

Time ceased to exist. 

Geralt had no idea if they’d spent minutes or hours, fucking like wild animals; covering each other in slick and sweat and spend until they were sure to reek of sex for the next month straight. 

He fucked his omega as long as he needed, as long as those wings were still pointed toward him, and the bards hips moved against him, impossibly attempting to take Geralt deeper. 

Then, those massive wings began to falter. Fluttering weakly as they lowered themselves, inch by inch, until they were spread out to the side once more. One more orgasm, and Jaskiers hips stilled. Sounds of desperation melting into hums of content. 

Yet Geralt was still  _frantic_ .

Something wasn’t right, still  _missing,_ and he didn’t know  _what_ . 

He kept snapping his hips, fucking harder, harder still and it wasn’t enough. He groaned out his distressed, pushed as deep as he could reach within his mates channel, grinding and humping against the bards ass in a delirious attempt to figure out  _what the fuck he needed._

“ _Yesss_. Breed me, _breed_ me, _deep_ Alpha, give me your pups!” Hissed the bard, clumsily reaching behind himself to claw at Geralts thigh, claws raking over the Witchers thigh hard enough to leave behind angry red lines. “Now Alpha, now now _now!_ ”

Geralt gave a wounded whine, not knowing what his mate wanted, yet so badly wanting to  _give_ \- 

His cock twitched, and with that, the base began to swell. 

In his right mind, Geralt might have been horrified. 

All he could do now was moan, grinding his hips harder, give short, pointed thrusts, again and again. Pressure building within him, as he kept swelling, kept  _fucking_ until- 

-until he couldn’t move his hips a single inch, couldn’t do anything but howl and empty himself into his bards body; spilling rivers of his spend into his mates willing body, each clench of muscle around him pulling another spurt from his cock, chased another shiver of pleasure along his spine. 

The last thing Geralt heard was the happy coo of his very happy,  well bred mate.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiiiny bit more smutt and much more feral Geralt. <3 Heh. I hope you guys enjoyed!   
> Thank you so much for your comments, and all the support you guys have given me <3 I can't tell you how much I appreciate it! Your comments keep me smiling and writing <3

The next time Geralt wakes, its to a warmth around his cock, and the extremely enthusiastic moans of his mate.

His mate is kneeling at his side, ass up in the air, his torso lowered to get to his treat.

His sight still blurry as he lifts his head to look down, watching as his bard, kisses and licks along his shaft before swallowing him whole without even trying. It pulls a pleased rumble from him, watching Jaskier tremble, his scent cloying and _perfect._

He wraps his fingers into brown locks, hips rocking upwards whenever his omegas lips are at the base. Wants to shove himself just a little  _deeper_ , take a little  _more_ . 

Jaskier had always been a sexual creature, had laid in many beds with many people; the practice most certainly paying off as despite Geralts considerable length, his bard did not gag or choke. 

Had Geralt been capable of forming words, he’d have told Jaskier how beautiful he looked, how good he was being; how amazing his mouth felt around the Witchers cock; how pretty his lips were, swollen and red from use. As it was, all he could do was give an encouraging growl, thrusting his hips harder, and expecting the man to keep pace. 

His songbird didn’t disappoint, adapted to the new rhythm without missing a beat, much to Geralts pleasure. It seemed his lark had been made to match Geralts own stamina. 

With those talented lips wrapped around him, it didn’t take long before the base of his cock started to tingle, slowly fattening up with each dip of the bards head. The sight once more did nothing to unsettle him, too caught up in Jaskiers scent and his actions; a small voice in the back of his mind screaming “ _What the hell is that?!_ ”  easily ignored. 

Jaskier seemed especially pleased with this new addition to Geralts person; moaning like whore each time he was able to pop the swelling flesh into his mouth, until it grew to be too large. Instead, the bard wrapped his hands around it, eagerly bobbing his head, high-pitched whines muffled against Geralts cock. 

His knot grew larger, larger still, until it had become roughly the size of Geralts first. Wanted so badly to grab his bard and throw him down, mount him from behind and fuck him until they both passed out again, fuck him on his knot until it caught, locking them together- 

Something moved at the caves entrance.

Geralt snapped his head towards the direction of the noise, eyes narrowing; the grasp on his bards hair turning harsh and painful as he held him in place. It earned him a distraught whine, black wings flapping unhappily, but Geralt did not let go. 

There it was again. 

Something-  _Someone_ was trying to get into their cave. To get close to their nest. 

Get close to his  _mate_ .

Instinct alone guided him as he shoved Jaskier into the nest, growling low in his throat.

“Stay.” He snarled, and then turned his back on him. 

Slowly, the Witcher made his way towards the caves opening, moving soundlessly over the cold stone floor. Intent to catch and kill whoever had been stupid enough to try and  _threaten_ his songbird, to  _interrupt_ their mating.

The closer he came to the caves entrance, the more light fell into it. The moon was full and bright, leaving him little darkness to hide in, and more importantly,  _stalk_ from. But it didn’t matter; he’d caught their scent, and even though it smelled  _familiar_ , Geralt couldn’t stop himself from hunting it down. 

The source of the scent was right there, only a few feet away, standing completely still. Like they had heard him approach. Which left Geralt with a single option.

He flung himself forward, tackling the intruder and flinging them both to the ground with a solid ‘thud’. Jumped right back onto his feet, crouched on the ground with his teeth bared, growling dangerously deep in his chest; the message clear even without using words.

“Geralt.” The man said, his voice deep, _soothing_ almost. “Its me, pup.”

Geralt remembered that voice. Or, remembered that the voice belonged to someone he cared for. Even if he couldn’t quite recall who it was. Still agitated, Geralt gave another growl, less forceful, but a clear message once again.

_You’re not wanted here._

“Brought you food and water, pup.” The man said, slowly reaching out to a satchel that had been flung away from him during Geralts attack. “For your mate. So you can take care of him without having to leave.”

Geralt tilted his head, glanced at the offering. He fully understood the words, but his mind felt- slowed, hazy, like instinct suddenly weighed heavier on it than rational thought.

Finally, he gave a nod, reaching out towards the man to receive his gift. Once it was placed securely in his hand, Geralt narrowed his eyes and nodded towards the trail leading away from their cave. The man had done what he’d said; and now he would leave. One way, or another.

The man got onto his feet, each movement gradual; until he was standing and slowly backing away. Geralt gave a rumble of approval, but did not rejoin Jaskier until the man was out of sight.

* * *

The heat, as he learned once he was lucid again, had lasted an entire week.

Days spent fucking his mate in every position he could think of (but most often from behind, where he could easily knot his bards slick hole), touching and tasting, again and again.

Now, he was exhausted. His every muscle ached, and the bright light of the sun hurt his eyes. Jaskier was in a similar state, and together they’d barely managed to walk down the path to rejoin Vesemir and the horses.

The older Witcher had made camp at the lake’s edge, a good distance away. Apparently, he’d had his camp closer at first, but after his encounter with a thoroughly feral Geralt, had moved away for safety.

“Didn’t want ya comin’ down here for a wash and findin’ me, pup.” The man grunted. “Weren’t in your right mind.”

“Hmm.” Geralt hummed, glancing towards Jaskier. They could both do with a wash now, covered in _fluids_ as they were. But his bard did not look up to staying on his legs long enough to scrub himself clean, and if he was completely honest with himself, neither was Geralt.

They hadn’t eaten the entire time, only stopping to drink from their waterskins a few times. Both likely dehydrated and definitely desperate for food. Vesemir, once more, had prepared. They’d barely sat down around the fire before they had food pressed into their hands; both ravenously devouring what they’d been given; emptying their waterskins again and again (refilled by Vesemir), until finally, they were sated.

“Rest now, you two.” Vesemir huffed, nodding towards his own bedroll. “And tomorrow, a wash. You both smell like you spent a month in a brothel.”

Geralt managed the smallest of smiles as he dragged Jaskier onto the fabric with him, laying down beside his bard, holding on tight. His lark gave a sound of contentment, nuzzling his nose against the Witchers neck, inhaling deeply.

Even exhausted, covered in dried spend and sweat, and with more problems than he knew what to do with, and considerable changes to his own body that he had yet to think about- Geralt couldn’t help felling anything but content.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, life was _good_.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh new chapter! Woo! With a bit of humor and shenanigans, cause I felt like it. Heh.  
> Thank you guys so much for all the support <3 I really cant stop saying just how much it means to me!

Geralt slept through the night, and well into the next day.

He’d expected the heat to take a lot out of him, and his songbird; he’d just underestimated quite how _much._

When he eventually woke, Jaskier was still fast asleep, breathing deep and even. Geralt let himself smile, warmth and fondness blooming in his chest. How had he gotten _this_ lucky? Jaskier was a blessing; so much more than Geralt deserved. Somehow, this wonderful being had chosen _him;_ a Witcher, as his mate.

Geralt had never exactly considered his life a good one; most of it had consisted of loss and pain and injury. Decent, he would have called it. Not good, nor bad.

Of course, Jaskier had changed that the second he wandered into Geralts path.

“If you’re well enough to be a love sick fool, pup, you can get up and wash.”

Geralt snorted.

“Good morning to you too, Vesemir.” Slowly, Geralt stood. Cataloging each ache and pain in his sore muscles as he went. Knowing his own body was a big part of being a Witcher; knowing when he could push on, and when he had to retreat and rest separated him from most of the monsters he killed.

“Not even close to morning, pup. You slept well into noon.” The older man situated himself at the fire, preparing to cook the rabbits he’d caught.

“Hmm.” Geralt hummed, moving towards the water once he was sure his legs wouldn’t falter. The cool of the lake was a welcome sensation, lapping at his aching body as he slowly waded until he was hip deep. Started off with washing his hair, dunking under the surface, running fingers through the tangled locks. Jaskier had always been adamant that Geralt took care of his hair, for some reason; he wanted his songbird to wake up and be pleased with him.

Another urge he hadn’t felt with anyone but Jaskier.

He spared a thought to Yen, and their relationship. Things had always been difficult between them; the djinn’s magic forcing them together when, for a time, they’d rather have been apart. She’d been demanding, ambitious to the core; always wanting something more, something _better_. A quality Geralt found admirable and _fucking exhausting_ in equal measures.

He was a simple man, with simple desires. A full stomach, and a soft place to rest his head when possible, and he was set. Yennefer had never been able to understand that.

Jaskier didn’t only understand; he was happy to lead that sort of life, as long as he was with Geralt. As much as he’d bemoaned the lacks of luxury during their traveling, it had never been enough to chase him away.

Once things were figured out, perhaps he could take Jaskier to an inn. A nice one, with the ridiculously soft mattresses stuffed with goose feathers, and nice, plush pillows. They’d share a warm bath, and Geralt would make sure they’d have scented oils and bath salts; all the kinds his bard adored. Perhaps, if they were lucky, he’d even be able to procure a treat; fresh strawberries, or cherries, sweet and luscious. He’d watch as Jaskier ate, his pillowed lips colored red by the juices-

“You just fucked for a week straight, pup. You can’t be serious.” Vesemir growled, glaring at Geralt who only shrugged in reply. His scent had, apparently, floated over to the Witcher; yet Geralt couldn’t muster any regret for his obvious desire.

Methodically, he washed himself. Arms and chest, then his legs, and then-

“..Fuck.”

How had he forgotten?

Geralt stared down at his groin. And yes, there it was. Extra tissue around the base of his cock. It looked innocent enough, but he quite vividly recalled how it grew, swollen with blood and so, _so_ sensitive.

“What’s wrong?”

_Fuck._

Geralt ground his teeth, huffing. It was bad enough that Vesemir had been forced to stay close _during_ the cycle; had surely heard a few things they both wish he didn’t. He very much wanted to avoid a conversation about his suddenly _modified_ genitals. But he couldn’t keep it from him, either. Vesemir was relentless; if he caught the scent of blood, he turned into a fucking bloodhound.

Better get this over with quickly.

“Grew a knot.” He replied, trying his best to keep his voice neutral as he wandered back to shore.

“..You grew a knot.” Vesemir replied; for the first time in his life looking truly dumbfounded.

“Mmhm. On my cock.” Geralt, now once more on dry land, gestured towards his groin. “Seemed to be part of the heat.”

Gods be damned, this was awkward.

There he stood, naked as the day he was born, in front of the man that was basically his father, showing of his cock and newly added knot.

_Why_ was this his life.

“..A knot.” Vesemir repeated, glancing at the area Geralt had indicated before turning away. “Get dressed. I won’t fucking deal with this until I’ve eaten. Seen enough of you naked for the rest of my _fucking_ days.”

* * *

Jaskier was brought around by the smell of food.

One eye slowly opening just as the rabbits were done, giving a soft coo. Geralt was immediately back a his side, having just returned from retrieving the items they’d left in the cave. Vesemir had retrieved the satchels with their clothing and waterskins, but he’d left the rest behind. Not that Geralt blamed him- their bedroll and blankets were in desperate need of a wash.

“Hungry?” He asked, gently running his thumb along the bards cheek. A sleepy nod was his reply, his lark seemingly unwilling to move an inch; even his wings were still. Geralt felt a stab of guilt. His poor songbird was exhausted, still covered in fluids.. He’d have to remedy that.

Food first.

Gently he lifted the bard and placed him into his lap. Taking one of the sticks they’d speared the meat on, Geralt ripped off a small piece with his over hand; offering it to the bard that rested heavily against his chest.

Jaskier accepted it gratefully; opening his mouth as the food was held before his lips. One piece after the other, Geralt fed his songbird, until eventually, the bard turned his head away. He’d only eaten half as much as Geralt would have liked, but he didn’t push. Instead, he offered the bard water, which was quickly devoured. 

Dehydration seemed to be one of the biggest issues, Geralt realized. Next heat, he’d have to make sure it didn’t happen again. 

“T’red.” Jaskier mumbled, nuzzling into Geralts chest, inhaling deeply. The Witcher badly wanted to allow his lark the rest, but a wash, at this point, was no longer optional. Glancing towards the lake, he took a moment to plan ahead. He couldn’t trust that Jaskier could stand on his own and Geralt scrubbed him clean. They’d have to make do. 

“Soon, my love.” He said, wrapping an arm below Jaskiers legs, the other under his back; trying his best not to jostle the poor man too much as he moved. “Wash first.”

Jaskier gave a whine of protest, and a pathetic little wiggle; movement barely strong enough to be felt. 

“I know, sweet lark.” Gods above, Geralt was starting to hate the aftermath of the cycle. Seeing Jaskier weak and exhausted was a hell he never wanted to endure again. He’d do better the next time around. “Just need you to hold on a little longer.”

He sat them down a few feet from the shore- water high enough to wash Jaskier, but with no danger of drowning. 

Fuck. He’d forgotten-

Vesemir was already beside him, offering him a bar of soap. Geralt nodded his thanks. 

“He looks in rough shape.” The Witcher commented as Geralt got to work. Wetting the soap, then running it along the bards arms. “Must be difficult on his body. Might be why the cycle took so long to appear. Doing this every year would be a bitch.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nodded, but couldn’t quite bring himself to care about Vesemirs newest theory. He was focused on Jaskier, and Jaskier alone. Cleaned his lark with much more care than he’d ever deem appropriate for himself. It took quite some time, and by the end of it, Jaskier was shaking, a cold, exhausted, miserable little ball curled up tight against Geralts chest. 

Geralt rushed to get him dry and warm again; rubbed the water off his skin with his own shirt, dressed him in the change of clothes they’d brought. Their blankets, for the time being, were in no state to be used, but Vesemir had once more offered up his own bedroll for the bard to recover. 

At first, Geralt hadn’t been sure about Vesemir joining them. Now, he was fucking glad for it. How they would have done any of this without the older Witcher around to help- Geralt shuddered at the very thought.

Jaskier was sound asleep the second Geralt laid him down; a bit paler he’d been before the cycle, but not to the point that it was worrisome. 

“He’ll need a few days.” Geralt turned to Vesemir, sitting cross legged right behind his lark. Vesemir gave a grunt that Geralt knew to mean agreement. 

They sat in silence for a while, until the older man gave a sigh.

“So, a knot.” 

So they were going to talk about it. Wonderful.

“Mh. Just- happened, really.” Geralt replied, letting his gaze wander over the body laid out before him. “Sure wasn’t there before. It seemed part of- well. Everything. Each bout only ended when we were tied.” 

“So its biological now, too.” Geralt quirked a brow in a silent question. “His magic changed you, _is_ changing you, pup. First the bond. Now a knot and more animalistic behavior. No telling what else will change.” 

Geralt hadn’t thought about that.

His eyes lingered on the bards wings, his horns. Was this what he would transform into? 

The thought should have bothered him, perhaps even scared him. He was a Witcher. His job was to roam the continent, to kill monsters for coin. He’d never be able to take a contract or even make it to the alderman in a village if he did. 

Except it opened up a whole new life for himself, and Jaskier.

They could live in the deep forests, or perhaps on the mountains, too high for any human to ever come across. Find another cave to make their home.. Not a bad life. 

“We better find your witch soon, Geralt. I’m worried.” 

That snapped Geralt out of his thoughts. He turned to Vesemir, and gave a small nod. Whatever Vesemir needed to feel at ease, if it was something Geralt could provide, he would. If Yen looking him over and declaring he was fine was what it took; well, they were already on their way to her. 

They’d just have to find her first.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I know I said I was gonna take a few days "off" from writing for my birthday and some family visits in reply to some of your comments. Thats, honestly, still the plan. HOWEVER. I have received a birthday gift I simply had to share with you guys right away! And I figured it would go best with another chapter. <3 
> 
> So, here is the chapter, and at the end, I've included a little surprise <3

Finding Yennefer, as it turned out, took longer than Geralt had hoped for.

For three months, they wandered across the continent; always holding to the same pattern. Jaskier and Vesemir would stay behind in the woods, where they were safe from being discovered, while Geralt would head to the nearest village or city, asking in taverns and any other establishments there might be about a raven haired mage with violet eyes.

They were either having absolutely rotten luck, or Yen just didn’t _want_ to be found.

Whichever it was, Geralt was becoming increasingly frustrated.

He wanted answer, and his bard _needed_ them.

Jaskier had taken three full days to recover, and even then, Geralt hadn’t been completely satisfied his lark was ready to travel. It was only the bards insistence that they kept moving, kept searching, that ad convinced him to pack up camp and move on.

Each time the Witcher left to find a village, he saw hope in those beautiful blue eyes. Each time he returned empty handed, he saw disappointed. It was seeing that disappointment over and over that started to eat away at Geralt, much quicker than he had expected.

The heat had changed so many things.

Where before they had agreed to keep their distance, they had both agreed that the pull between them had become too strong, too distracting. Denying each other wasn’t a feasible option any longer. Geralt would have felt overjoyed, if not for the guilt so clearly written on his songbirds face, in the sheepish smiles when Jaskier was first to initiate a kiss, or embrace.

Still worried that, in some way, he’d influenced the Witcher; made Geralt feel attraction to him, because _he_ felt attraction to Geralt.

And it was wearing his little lark down.

Where Jaskier had been smiles and coos and soft little trills, he’d become more quiet; lost himself in thought more and more; would barely eat if Geralt didn’t encourage him night after night. It got so bad, even Vesemir became concerned.

So far, they’d stayed away from larger cities. Now, Geralt felt they had no choice.

Oxenfurt was close; half a weeks ride if the weather played along. He’d have to leave Jaskier behind for much longer than he had before, but the situation was getting dire- his songbird unable to keep his spirits up. Geralt had to go.

“I’ll hurry.” He promised, nuzzling the bards cheek; pressing a soft kiss against pale skin.

“Wish I could come with you.” Jaskier mumbled, arms wrapped tightly around Geralts shoulders, clawed hands holding tight. “I hate when we’re apart.”

“I do too.”

Of course he did. Geralt wanted nothing else but keep his nightingale close; feel his wings against his skin at night, kiss those gorgeous lips. It was no use; the longer he waited, the harder it would be to pull away. Geralt had to go now, or risk not leaving for another day.

He kissed his bard goodbye, then turned and mountain Roach.

He rode away, resisting the urge to look back.

* * *

Oxenfurt was as it always had been. Loud, filled with too many people, young and old wandering the streets; chatter echoing off the great stone walls; grating on Geralts nerves as his keen senses threatening to overwhelm him. It was always the same; the city too much for him until his senses became used to the shift in his surroundings.

In a few hours, it would become less annoying. Until then, Geralt simply had to grind his teeth and endure.

Geralt stabled Roach at an inn, and started on his way. The Academy first, in case Yen had been there for research- the library housed within it was substantial, offering books on many different topics, old and new. He was disappointed. They hadn’t heard of, or seen, the purple eyed witch in quite some time.

His next visit was with Stjepan, owner of the tavern named “The Alchemy”. The man had a rather unpleasant disposition, but after a few rounds of gwent (and some financial incentive), Stjepan finally answered Geralts questions; only to disappoint the Witcher once again.

No sign of the sorceress he was searching for.

The sun was beginning to lower, and Geralt considered looking for Shani, in a last ditch attempt at gaining any information- when he was stopped in the street.

“Sir Witcher! White Wolf!”

Geralt stopped, turned- and was met with a small boy. He looked around ten years old, his scent suggesting fear, but his face bravely set in defiance.

“Yes?” He asked, quirking his brow.

The boy held out a piece of parchment to him, his small hand shaking ever so slightly. Still, Geralt was impressed. Not many children would have had the courage to stop a Witcher, much less get close enough to hand one anything.

“Thank you.” Geralt accepted the parchment, then gave the child a silver coin for his troubles. The boy gave him a surprised look, then ran off.

Unfolding the paper in his hand, Geralt scanned over the words written on it.

“ _Tomorrow night, meet me at Guildenstern bridge._

_Y._ ”

Finally.

Geralt couldn’t help the sigh of relief; Yennerfer.

They’d get answers, after months of going on _nothing_. Weeks watching his lark suffer; torn apart by guilt and uncertainty. Geralt would be able to make that all go away. Yen would tell Jaskier that this bond, while it surely originated from him, did not have the power to change Geralts feelings. That everything that had happened between them was real, and true.

That Geralt loved him, exactly as he was now; had loved him as he’d been before.

He’d just have to be patient for a little longer.

* * *

Geralt had made his way to Guildenstern bridge just as darkness began to blanket the city. Likely too early; he’d be waiting for Yen for a few hours yet. He simply hadn’t been able to stay at the inn and wait any longer. He’d been buzzing with pent up energy from the moment he woke that morning; forcing himself to sleep the night before. Once Yen was with him, they’d return to Jaskier immediately. That was not up for debate.

Geralt hoped he could convince Yen to ride with him, instead of using a portal. Portals could be traced, if someone was actively trying. A risk Geralt wasn’t willing to take, even if Yennefer was sure no one was on her heels.

Jaskiers safety was the Witchers highest priority.

It took immense self control not to pace, to remain in the shadows and wait, when all he wanted was for the sorceress to appear and start on his way back towards his bard.

After hours of standing, of waiting, a scent caught his attention. Lilac and gooseberries.

“Geralt.” The Witcher turned his head to the right, staring straight into purple eyes.

“Yen.” He greeted in returning, giving her a short nod. No one else would have noticed the way her eyes widened, just for a split second, as he took Geralt in. No doubt feeling the magic Vesemir had senses when Geralt had first entered Kaer Morhen.

“My, my.” Yennefer said, smooth and unimpressed, her tone as even as it always had been. “I sense you have quite the story to tell me.”

“Have to show you something first.” Geralt replied, eyes flicking to take in their surroundings; making sure no one was paying too much attention to them, or listening in on their conversation. “Its urgent.”

“Urgent, yes?” Yen hummed, a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. “So urgent that you cannot spare a night for me? Like in old times?”

He knew exactly what she was asking for; not just with her words, but the way she was leaning towards him, raising her dainty hand to rest against his cheek. Before he’d found Jaskier, perhaps he’d been tempted. While the didn’t make good lovers, there was no denying that the sex had been _good_. Perhaps he’d have followed her to wherever she was staying, and spent a few hours wrapped up in her silken skin, pressed against her soft curves and scent.

Things had changed. Now, the very idea of laying with her, with _anyone_ but his little lark- it was nauseating.

“Yes.” He grunted, unwilling to be quite so rude to push her hand away, but not at all open to the suggestion. “We need to leave. Now.”

If the answer disturbed Yen, it didn’t show. She simply lowered her head and nodded.

“Very well. Where to then, Witcher?”

“To the inn, to grab Roach.” He replied, pushing himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against, nodding his head in the direction they’d be taking. “Unless you have a horse, you’ll be riding with me.”

“Trying to avoid upsetting your delicate stomach?” Yennefer teased. She’d always found his dislike for portals a bit _too_ amusing.

“Too risky.” The grunted in reply. Focusing his yellow eyes on the sorceresses face. “No one can follow us. No one can know.”

“You’re being quite mysterious, Geralt. I do hope this is worth my time.”

Geralt snorted.

“It’ll be worth your time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This picture was made by my friend requiem! Her interpretation of what Jaskier would look like now <3 If you'd like to see more of her work, or maybe commission her, please check her out on instagram, @rererequiem!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand I'm back with another chapter. <3 I'm sorry it took so long guys, but between family and birthdays and all that, I just didn't have the time/energy to update. I hope you aren't too upset with me! That being said, I really hope you enjoy this chapter, where you finally get to find out a bit more about the bond, thanks to Yen!
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support, your comments and kudos and everything make my day, and keep me writing <3

They’d been riding non-stop; Geralt didn’t let them rest for longer than it took to eat and drink before urging Yennefer and Roach on.

He’d been parted from his songbird for far too long.

Yennefer had commented, sometime during the night, that whatever drove him to such haste surely couldn’t be _that_ important. Geralt had barely resisted growling at her, and tensely replied; _Yes, it is._

The sun had just begun rising when finally, he caught his bards scent. Sweet and perfect, beckoning him home.

They’d made it.

Roach had barely come to a halt before Geralt was swinging himself off her back, not stopping to offer Yennefer a hand to get down. She was quite capable of doing so herself; and he had a certain someone to attend to.

Jaskier was on his feet the second he laid eyes on his Witcher, throwing himself forward and into Geralts arms with a high pitched keen.

“I’ve missed you!” He wailed, embracing the Witcher and holding tight. “Oh Geralt.”

“I’ve missed you too, little lark.” Geralt rumbled, stealing a kiss from plush lips. “But I haven’t returned empty handed, this time.”

Jaskier took a second to glance over his shoulder, gaze lingering on Yennefer. His scent soured, if only slightly; Geralt couldn’t stop the amused smile from curling his lips. Gently, he untangled himself from the bards embrace; as much as he hated it, they had more important things to do.

“Yennefer.” He turned to the sorceress, holding Jaskiers hand securely in his own. “You remember Jaskier.”

“I do indeed.” She replied evenly; her features schooled into an impassive expression that failed to hide the spark of interest in purple eyes. “But I remember him quite differently.”

She walked forward, circling the pair, taking in the wings and horns and claws, humming thoughtfully.

“Not a curse, is it?”

“No.” Geralt and Jaskier replied at once.

“Interesting.” Yennefer was once again stood before them, now only a few feet before them. “It explains the magic I’ve senses in you. A bond.”

“What kind of bond?” Vesemir had joined them, going completely unnoticed before he made his presence known.

“Now now.” Yennefer smiled at the older wolf. “Before we start on all that; I’m assuming there is some sort of issue here. Something that requires my help. Am I right?”

Geralt nodded, squeezing the bards hand. Annoyed that Yen was refusing them information, but knowing better than to push. For now. If they wanted answers anytime soon, they’d have to play by her rules. That’s just how Yen _was_.

“Then how about we talk payment, first?”

“We’re a bit low on coin, I’m afraid.” The bard quipped, waggling the fingers of a clawed hand at her. “You see, these don’t exactly lend themselves to playing a lute. Or any instrument, really.”

“I’m quite confident you’ve been handling some things rather well, bard.” Came the witches retort, a smirk gracing her lips. “But it’s not coin that I want.”

“Then what?” Geralt asked through clenched teeth, shoulders growing tense. They’d been through this before; the whole affair with the Djinn where the sorceress had refused coin, but kept Jaskier in an attempt to capture the magical creature.

“Information.” She replied, motioning towards Jaskier. “I’ve never seen, nor heard, of what your bard has become. Its a rare thing to happen, after all this time alive. You can understand my curiosity, Geralt, no?”

“What _kind_ of information?” Jaskier questioned, eyes narrowing. Sensing Geralts tension and reacting.

“I’d like to examine you, and then I’d like you to let me read your mind.” Yennefer smiled ever so pleasantly, quickly continuing before Geralt could object. “Its not that I don’t trust you to tell me the truth, Geralt. But you’re famously bad at- _sharing_. And while your bard is quite good at it, I have a feeling that he’d instinctively know which parts you’d rather not share; perhaps keep them to himself. I’d like to have _all_ the information.”

Geralt snarled. The very thought of having Yen rooting around in his mates mind sent a rush of cold along his spine. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, per se; he wouldn’t have trusted  _anyone_ to read his bards mind. He was about to deny her request when-

“Fine.” Jaskier huffed, wings flapping unhappily. Geralt turned his head to face his songbird, furrowing his brows. “Its not like we have a choice, Alpha.” 

“Alpha?” Yennefer asked, seemingly intrigued. 

“Later, Yen.” Geralt grunted, not quite willing to get into _that_ just yet. “First you tell us about the bond.” 

“Its a soulmate bond.” She replied, as if that had been entirely obvious. When none of them gave a response aside of confused blinking, she gave a long suffering sigh. “Your souls; they’re connected. I’m sure you’ve felt _some_ changes in your behavior, the way you interact?” 

Vesemir snorted. Geralt almost punched him in the face. 

“There’s quite a few types of soulbonds; say, for example, someone used a magic wish to _bind_ another to them.” Geralt frowned. Of course she’d bring this up again. “But whats most interesting about the bond you two have is that it seems to be two sided.”

“Two sided? What does that mean?” His bard echoed, asking before Geralt had to.

“It means that your bond, unlike most others, is mutual. Take the bond between me and Geralt; it tied my soul to his; but it didn’t tie _his_ soul to _mine_. Not the way yours are. 

Our magic, or soul, or whatever you’d like to call it; they didn’t  _recognize_ each other and  bond; it was an outside force that  _forced_ the connection.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Geralt huffed, agitated. “If we had this bond before, then we should have been drawn to each other much sooner.” 

“And your bard was _drawn_ to you; or am I wrong?” Purple eyes settled on Jaskiers face. “That day you met Geralt; you felt something, pulling you closer. Making it impossible _not_ to talk to him. To follow him.”

Jaskier swallowed, bit his lip. Lowered his eyes to the ground. 

“You’re right.” He admitted, a heartbeat later. “I just _knew_ I had to- there was something _about_ him. I couldn’t keep away.” 

Geralt, confused and surprised, glanced between his songbird and the sorceress. 

“Why didn’t I feel it, then?” He asked. 

“Because your bards own magic hadn’t yet woken up, for lack of a better description. It couldn’t produce the same magical pull that you did. Yet. But it was enough to feel _your_ pull.” 

If Yennefer was impressed by Vesemirs observation, as always, she did not show it. 

“Indeed. Which also means that the bond didn’t come about because of your bard- changing. It was there all along, from the moment you met.” 

Geralt blinked. Considered. Then blinked again. He wanted to speak, to form words, but found himself too stunned by what was being suggested to him. 

“You’re saying-”

“Indeed.” Yennefer smirked. “Geralt, his soul, his magic; he’s the one responsible for this bond. The bards soul responded more forcefully, once it was _able_ to, of course. But this? This happened because of you, dear Witcher.”

* * *

Geralts head was spinning. Hours after their conversation with Yen, and he could still barely think straight.

She’d told them that for more information, she’d need to closely examine Jaskier; unwilling to do so in the middle of the forest, she’d suggested her current residence, a few days travel away. They’d sneak in during the night, when the few servants she kept around would be deep in sleep, and no other human being would be around. 

She and Vesemir had traveled by portal; the older wolf suggesting that, with the new information revealed, Jaskier and Geralt might need some time to themselves. To talk, to adjust; perhaps just to spend some time alone together. 

Geralt had gladly accepted. 

They made plans to meet up at the sorceress’ home, in four days time. Enough to allow them a comfortable pace to travel at, and sleep at night. Yennefer had pushed for three, perhaps even two days, impatient. A single glare from Geralt had silenced her, though she pursed her lips; clearly unhappy. 

Now, here they were. Walking through the forest with Roach trailing behind, as Geralt tried (and failed) to come to grips with what he heard.  All this time, Jaskier had been worried about forcing himself on Geralt; the truth, it seemed, being the exact opposite. 

_He’d_ done this.

Even though he hadn’t felt a pull, not like his songbird had, it was his  _fault_ . He still didn’t understand why his soul recognizing another as- compatible?- had produced a pull for the other, and not himself. Perhaps if he’d been the one to feel the pull, he could have resisted, could have let Jaskier be free  of him, of all the  _pain_ he’d caused him \-  The guilt was almost too much to handle.

“Geralt. Stop for a moment, will you?” 

He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to push on, until he was too exhausted to think. Make it to Yen in the two days she’d suggested so maybe they could undo what he’d forced on Jaskier. 

Of course, he’d never been able to deny the bard anything. 

He stilled, keeping his eyes stubbornly focused on the hard ground.

“Will you look at me, Geralt?” Jaskier softly urged, moving to stand before Geralt, placing a clawed hand against his chest. “Please?”

Geralt lifted his gaze to meet Jaskiers. 

“I know whats going on in your head.” His songbird soothed. “You’ve always blamed yourself for everything. _Especially_ the things that weren’t your fault. This? This is one of those times.”

“How can you say that?” Gods, Geralt was tired. They’d traveled day and night, without any rest, and now.. “You heard Yen. It was my magic that reached out first. I didn’t give you a _choice_.”

“I did hear her.” Jaskier confirmed, giving Geralt a fond smile so beautiful, it hurt the Witcher just to look. “It was you that reached out first, yes. But Geralt, she also said that _my_ magic responded. Not properly, not enough to form a bond, not back then. But it _did_ respond. To be completely honest; even if there hadn’t been any magic between us- I still would have followed you out of that tavern. I’m _sure_ of it.”

Geralt gave a noncommittal hum, turning his face away from Jaskier. Of course the little lark would be trying to soothe him; lighten the burden on the Witchers shoulders. Their bond, the thing he’d forced between them, pushed them together. Perhaps, all the feelings Jaskier had weren’t real at all, perhaps-

“Please look at me, Alpha.” Geralt wanted to beg Jaskier to stop calling him that; couldn’t take it, not now. He kept silent, unwilling to upset the man even if he suffered. Turned and faced him once more.

“This isn’t what you think it is. You didn’t do this to me, you didn’t force me. If you had, don’t you think Yennefer would have mentioned that? This isn’t like making a wish to a djinn; our souls recognized- _something_ in each other. That’s why yours called out to mine, and why mine _answered_ that call.

I’m sure she could explain it better, if she were here but- this doesn’t feel like something one sided, Geralt. Didn’t Yen  _say_ it was two sided? How could you have forced this if it needed  _both_ of us to happen?”

Geralt remained silent; taking a moment to mull over the bards words. 

Gods above, he hoped Jaskier was right. That Geralt had simply misunderstood, had let his tendency to blame himself for everything- a quality he had begrudgingly accepted he had over the last decade- misguide his thoughts. Lead him down the wrong trail. 

He  _wanted_ to be wrong.

He just couldn’t quite  _believe_ it. 

“I know this is so hard on you, my sweet wolf.” Jaskier hummed, resting his forehead against the Witchers collarbone. “But remember what you said when I felt this way. Its no one’s fault this happened. It wasn’t intentional, something either of us could control. It just _happened_. And I, for one, am quite glad it did.”

Geralt grunted, unable to reply with words. 

“You are too, I know, my love. You don’t have to say it. I can feel it, right here.” Taking hold of the Witchers hand, Jaskier placed it against his own chest, smack in the middle. “I feel _you_. I’ve never been this happy, Geralt. And it’s all because of _you_.”

Geralt inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring as he soaked in the scent of his mate; sweet, soft.. smelling so very  _content_ , so  _happy_ , it was hard to hold on to the darkness swirling around in his mind.

“I love you.” The bard purred, nuzzling Geralts chest. 

“I love you too, little lark.” Geralt rumbled; it was the truth, the one thing he was sure of. “I love you too.” 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand here's the next chapter <3 I hope you like it!  
> Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments and support, as always, you guys make my day and keep me writing <3

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Geralt asked, one last time.

They’d arrived at Yennefers home only the night before. As she’d promised, they were able to sneak into the villa without a single human awake to see them.

Yen had lead them up two flats of stairs, and along a hallway until they hit a solid, wooden door.

_These will be your room._ She’d said.  _The door will not open to anyone but me and Vesemir._

As it turned out, their “room” was big enough to fit a large, four-poster bed, covered in fine, silken sheets; a table with enough room to fit 8; a set of plushy armchairs, several large bookshelves.. Jaskier had almost lost his  _mind_ .

_Feel how soft, Geralt!_ He’d crooned, rubbing the silk against his face the second Yennefer had left them alone. The Witcher couldn’t blame the bard; ten years in the wilderness, and suddenly being faced with such luxury- being overjoyed was understandable.

What had really made the bard swoon, however, was the bathtub in an adjoining room. Let into the floor, the marble basin had already been filled with steaming hot water. Jaskier had shed his breeches so fast, his claws had almost ripped them apart. 

After a long, indulgent bath, tired from their journey, they’d bedded down; his  bard trilling and cooing extensively at the feeling of silk against his naked body even after he’d curled up against Geralts side. 

It warmed something deep in the Witchers chest; seeing his  mate so happy, clean and comfortable and so obviously  _happy_ . 

Of course, nothing this good came without a price.

The sun had barely risen when Yennefer had walked in, waking them both quite rudely, and demanded to begin with her examination. 

Geralt had barely been able to convince her to give them enough time to dress and eat, so eager was she. Ultimately, she gave in, if only to avoid having to take breaks for food later on. 

So here they were, Jaskier sitting on the bed, Yennefer standing beside Geralt as the Witcher made sure, one last time. He was worried.  _Of course_ he was worried. Yen wouldn’t hurt Jaskier, not purposely. Yet the idea of having her in Jaskiers mind, of letting her study his wings, his horns- it weighed heavily on him. 

“I’m sure, Geralt.” Jaskier replied, gently squeezing the Witchers hand with his own. “We both want to learn more, don’t we? I’m sure it won’t be too bad.” 

“It won’t be.” Yen quipped, arms at her hips as she glared at Geralt. “Now, if you don’t mind.” 

Geralt heaved a sigh, but finally gave a short nod. 

“Get on with it then.” 

It came out sounding much sharper than he’d intended; his voice rough and low, bordering on a growl. He shot the sorceress an apologetic glance, only to be ignored. Little fazed Yennefer these days and Geralt was grateful she hadn’t taken his surliness personal. 

“Wings first.” Yennefer said, motioning towards them. “Spread them out, bard.”

The physical examination went well; Yennefer was efficient, but handled Jaskier carefully. Truth be told, the bard hadn’t seemed to  _like_ her touching his wings; if the way they twitched and occasionally moved away from her was anything to go by. 

“Has anyone else ever touched them?” Yennefer eventually asked, moving away to write on a piece or parchment; presumably jotting down her observations.

“Only Geralt.” Jaskier replied evenly, glancing at the before mentioned Witcher. Geralt returned the look with a, hopefully, encouraging smile.

“You don’t enjoy having them touched, then?” 

“..I. It feels _wrong_ when someone else touches them. Like how it feels when someone you don’t want or like tries to get too- _familiar_.” 

“Hmm.” Yennefer hummed, still writing, not bothering to look up. “It could be some inherent instinct you have; possibly, to your kind, the touching of wings is something intimate, something only allowed to a mate, or a close family member perhaps.” 

“What’s the other option?” Geralt asked.

“Your bard is a prissy little thing that doesn’t want anyone's hands on him but his _Alphas_.”

They hadn’t gotten to  _ that _ part of the examination yet, thank the gods, and Geralt knew she was only teasing. Yet it still made him grind his teeth in annoyance.

“Don’t call me that.” Again, more growl than words as he forced himself to stay calm. The title wasn’t hers to give, and he wouldn’t stand for it. 

“Ah, sensitive. I see.” Yennefer finally looked up, lilac eyes darting between the two. “The old man had mentioned some interesting things.. a mating cycle, yes? He said you’ve changed as well, dear Geralt- in more ways than one. A knot? How very.. _white wolf_ of you.”

Geralt didn’t rise to the bait. 

And so it went on; Yennefer examined Jaskiers horn, and then his claws. Asking a few questions as she went.

“Do you have feeling in either your horns or claws?” Jaskier had shook his head. Yennefer hummed.

“What about your healing?” She questioned further. “And building on that, are you bothered by silver?” 

Geralt felt himself go tense. It hadn’t even occurred to him that his mate might be vulnerable to the precious metal; that he was carrying something that could quickly end the bards life day in and day out.

“I- don’t know.” Jaskier replied weakly. “I haven’t been injured in.. years. A few scraped and bruises right after I turned, I imagine, but I didn’t pay them much mind. I had a bit more prevalent worries.”

“We’ll try then.” Yennefer decided, already making a move for a silver dagger she knew Geralt carried. 

“No.” Geralt barked, grabbing her wrist; something inside him had snapped at the suggestion, something _feral_ and fierce. No one was going to hurt Jaskier. Not when he was here to protect him. 

“Geralt.” Came the soothing call, accompanied by the familiar sounds of rustling feathers. “Its alright Alpha. Come here, my love; come join me.”

That voice like a sirens call, Geralt followed; released the sorceress as he walked backwards towards the bed, teeth bared. Sinking deeper into that wild thing that now resided within him until the back of his knees hit the mattress.

“That’s it.” The bard murmured, turning the Witchers head to face him, nuzzling at his cheek, and below his jaw. “My good Alpha. Always looking out for me, keeping me safe. So good to me, so _strong_.”

The praise made Geralt want to preen, mollified the anger at the mere suggestion of injuring the bard. The more Jaskier whispered to him, sweet words and soft little sounds, the more he calmed.  Until finally, he could glance back at the sorceress without feeling the need to chase her out of the rooms; far away from his mate. 

She said nothing; perhaps too busy with observing their interaction, perhaps because she’d been taken by surprise by the severity of his reaction. They hadn’t laid with each other in years, but Geralt had never laid a hand on her so roughly before. 

“I’m sorry, Yen.” He huffed, turning his attention back to the bard, nuzzling into his hair, taking a deep breath and allowing the scent to calm him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” She replied, but didn’t approach. 

“Its alright now, Yennefer.” Jaskier motioned towards her, bidding her closer. “He can get a bit, uh- _cranky_ , but he’d never actually hurt you. You caught him off guard.”

“Cranky.” The sorceress echoed, quirking a brow at the bard. 

“Yes.” Jaskier smiled, gently taking hold of Geralts hand and squeezing. “He’s all growl-y and such, but he’s a softie at heart, I’m sure you know this.”

Geralt huffed, but didn’t object.

“Now!” Jaskier reached for the dagger at Geralts side. “Why don’t we test how I react to silver?”

Before the bard could offer the weapon to Yen, Geralt took hold of it. He hated the idea of hurting Jaskier, but if anyone was going to take a blade to his skin, then damn it, it would be him. 

“I’ll do it.” 

At least this way, he’d be sure his songbird wasn’t cut too deep. 

“As you wish.” Yennefer hummed, moving to stand against Geralt once again. The Witcher raised the blade after pulling it from its sheath, grazing the very tip of it against Jaskiers upper arm. Just enough to draw a thin, red line; a single drop of blood welling up from the wound; trickling over soft, pale skin before being wiped away by Geralts thumb.

No screams of pain. No burning or sizzling of the usual reaction a monster had to the metal. Just a tiny cut, that was healed not seconds later. 

Geralt felt relief washing through him, allowing another rare smile to show on his face as he turned to gaze at his bard. Jaskier returned his smile with one of his own, bright as sunlight itself.

“Interesting.” Yennefer commented, returning to her parchment, taking down more notes. “With all that done-”

The relief he’d just felt vanished, his heart dropping down to his feet. Geralt knew what came next.

“-I’d like a look into your mind, bardling.”

“I’m sure you do.” Jaskier snipped, but his tone held no real menace. When had he become so tolerant towards Yen, Geralt wondered. Perhaps it was her ability to help that had smoothed out the jealousy his mate had felt when he’d first mentioned her, months ago. “Lets get this done, and with your permission, oh powerful sorceress, I’d like another bath. Cold streams and rivers might be nice, especially during the summer; but I haven’t bathed _properly_ in so long, I’ve almost forgotten how it works.” 

Geralt gave a fond snort. Ever dramatic, his little lark. 

“Have as many baths as you wish, as long as you clean up after yourselves.” Yennefer replied. “I would like to ask one thing before we begin.”

“What now, Yen? Getting into his head isn’t enough?” 

“I’d like you to go downstairs, Geralt. Talk to Vesemir, put together something for your bard to eat; whatever you like. For this, I want your bard alone.”

“Why?” Both Jaskier and Geralt immediately asked, though the bards voice held nothing but curiosity, while Geralts own tone was sharper.

“Because I don’t know what the bond can do.” Yennefer explained. “I don’t know if you can influence him when you’re with him, or apart. If I’m already going to read his mind, it would be interesting to see if _you_ have any reaction to it. After all, your bond is rather- _unique_.”

Geralt didn’t like it. Not one bit. He glanced at Jaskier. It was his mind; his decision to make. Whatever his mate wanted, he’d go along with.

“It would be good to know.” Jaskier said, slowly. “Who knows what situations we’ll stumble into in the future.. If you can be influenced, or worse, _hurt_ because of the bond, then we should know.” 

“Hm.”

“Always so eloquent.” Jaskier teased, pecking the Witchers cheek. “Go on now; get us some food. Maybe Yen has hidden away some honeycakes, hm? I’ve been craving them for- gods, I can’t _remember_ how long.” 

G eralt stood, if rather unwillingly. 

“I’ll be gentle.” Yennefer added, though her assurance did little to ease his mind. 

He gave her a short nod, and with one last glance at Jaskier, he left the room. Being away from Jaskier was uncomfortable at the best of times, but now, it had the hair at the back of his neck standing up straight. Every step away made him feel more uneasy, more on edge.

Jaskier was fine. He couldn’t hear any sounds of pain; wasn’t calling for Geralt. 

He was  _ fine. _

“Good morning, pup.” Vesemir grunted, startling Geralt from his thoughts.

Geralt gave a grunt in reply. When had he entered the kitchen?

“That witch is something.” The older Witcher hummed, ripping a piece of bread from the loaf before him. “She may have seemed calm at our camp, but the second we got here she disappeared into her library and didn’t come out for two days and a night.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt couldn’t really care less about what Yen had done at the moment. It was what she was doing _now_ that worried him.

“She send you down for some apple juice?” 

Geralt scowled. 

“How do you-” 

“Your bard recounted that particular story for me while you were gone. A rather interesting story indeed.” 

“Jaskier hasn’t found a story yet he doesn’t like telling.” Geralt grumbled, going through the cabinets as he spoke. Perhaps he’d find something Jaskier was particularly fond of, and staying in motion helped quell the nervousness he felt. 

F or a while, everything went fine. 

He gathered everything he came across and knew Jaskier enjoyed; apples, cheese, a fresh loaf of bread, a bowl of green grapes; Yen had kept her larder well stocked. He left the milk, but grabbed for a pitcher of apple juice on the table, ignoring the way Vesemir snickered.  Doing his best to give Yen the time she needed.

Things changed from one second to the next. 

The pitcher fell to the ground, breaking apart with a deafening sound. Geralt dropped to the floor with it. 

Pain. Everything was  _ pain _ . 

His chest, his lungs burned with it. His skin was on fire, his head felt like it was being split in two. He could barely breathe, choking on nothing but air; his muscles seized and trembled. He’d gone through a lot of unpleasantness in his long life. Thought he’d known every facet of pain. 

He’d been so fucking  _ wrong _ .

Agony spread through every cell of his body; he felt like his spine was being twisted within his body, and he would have screamed if only he could force the air out of his lungs. 

As quickly as it had begun, it stopped. 

Geralt came back to himself, his body twisted and contorted in an unnatural way. It didn’t matter. Whatever he had felt, it had come from the bond. He knew it as sure as he knew the sky to be blue.

He got to his feet, roughly shoved Vesemir to the side (he’d apologize for it later), and sprinted up towards their room. Something must have gone wrong, horribly fucking wrong, and why the fuck hadn’t he objected to this more when he’d  _ known _ better.

Geralt flung the door open so forcefully it almost flew off its hinges, the sound of splintering going completely unnoticed. 

Jaskier was on the bed, sweating, panting hard. Yen was bent over him, her hand on his back in what was meant to be a calming manner.

“ _Move_.” Geralt barked, joining his bard on the bed a split second later when Yen had retreated, gathering his trembling mate against his chest. 

“Geralt..” His mate whimpered, pressing his face against Geralts neck immediately, grabbing hold of the Witchers arm with bruising force. 

“I’m here, little lark, my sweet songbird.” Geralt rumbled, pushing aside his fury at the sorceress for the time being. Jaskier needed him now. There would be time to figure out what the _fuck_ Yen had done later. “You’re alright, I’ve got you, I’ll keep you safe. Won’t let her touch you again.”

“Geralt-” Yen tried, but was quickly cut off by the vicious snarl Geralt gave, eyes narrowing threateningly. 

“ _Get_. _Out_.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Woo! Next Chapter!
> 
> GUYS; while I've drawn from the lore of the Game, the Books and The Show, most of this is just what I made up to fit the story. If there is anything in here that doesn't really comply with the lore you're familiar with I'm sorry, but thats also how it was intended. I hope you still enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Thank you so much for all your amazing support <3 You make my day and keep me writing! <3

It took his bard hours to stop trembling, his wings to stop twitching. Every second one too much for Geralts taste.

Jaskier hadn’t spoken a single word, and the Witcher didn’t press him. His lark would talk when he was ready.

When the sun was slowly beginning to set, finally, his songbird gave a shuddering sigh.

“I’m exhausted.” The bard mumbled, nuzzling against the Witchers neck. “Is that strange?”

“No, little lark. Nothing strange about it.” Geralt replied, returning the affection with a kiss to brown locks. “Sleep for a bit, while I get dinner ready.”

_And figure out what the fuck Yen had done to them._

“Mh. Don’t be too hard on her, Alpha. Pretty sure she didn’t hurt me on purpose.”

“Accidentally is bad enough.” Geralt grunted, squeezing the man in his arms just a bit tighter, careful of the large wings attached to his back. “Anything specific you want to eat? Can’t promise I’ll manage, but..”

Geralt couldn’t help himself; his every instinct telling him to keep his mate where it was warm and safe, spoil him with everything and anything his sweet little lark could desire. Damn it, if he had to _make_ Yen portal them somewhere to get what Jaskier desired, he’d fucking do it. She owed him this much, at the very least.

“’s sweet of you, my love.” Jaskier slurred, already half asleep. “Some soup would be nice.”

“Soup it is.” Geralt hummed, pressing another chaste kiss to his mates forehead before he began pulling back. “Sleep now, sweet lark.”

Jaskier was asleep before he even finished the sentence.

* * *

“ _Why_ didn’t you show me this _sooner?!_ ”

Geralt hadn’t made it down to the kitchen before he heard Yen’s shouting. His lips twitched with the desire to pull back and show teeth; his lark was sleeping, and he didn’t need to be woken up by people yelling in the house.

Luckily, it seemed that she and whoever she was with, had chosen the very room he’d intended to enter for their argument. It saved him a trip around the large house looking for her.

He pushed the door open, watching quietly as the scene unfolded.

There stood Yen, the palm of her hands pressed against the rustic, wooden table. In front of her laid the book Vesemir had brought from Kaer Morhen. She looked absolutely furious, brows furrowed as she glared daggers at the older Witcher.

Vesemir, on the other hand, was entirely calm; sipping from a mug as she glanced at the book, and then back at Yennefer.

“I wanted to let you draw your own conclusions. If I had shown you this book before hand, you might have started coming up with theories, and then form fitted what you found during your examination, subconsciously. It was better to let you go in blind.”

“Since when do _you_ decide what information I get?” She hissed, completely ignoring Geralt for the time being. “It took them _days_ to get here, time I could have spent doing something _useful!_ ” 

“In a life as long as ours, whats a few days?” Vesemir said, flicking his eyes towards Geralt. “And I’m not your biggest problem at the moment.”

Y ennefer huffed, glaring at the older man for a few seconds longer, then turned towards Geralt.

“How is he?” There was genuine concern in her voice, and while Geralt appreciated it, it did little to lessen his anger. 

“Asleep, for now.” He gruffly replied. “Whatever the fuck you did to him scared the shit out of him. Was shaking for hours. Care to explain that?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him. I was just going through his memories- don’t look at me like that Geralt, I just wanted _all_ the facts- and it was going fine. Until..” She hesitated for a moment. “I was watching through his eyes as he walked in the woods, in the dead of night. That’s when it all went wrong.” 

“What did you see?” 

“Nothing, he still had shit sight; it wasn’t about what I saw. It was about what I felt. What he felt.”

“The pain I felt, too.” Geralt cut in, eager to move on with the conversation, to find out more. 

“It was the night he changed.” Yennefer sighed, seating herself on one of the chairs surrounding the table. “There was so much, Geralt. The pain was bad enough; unlike anything I’ve experienced for sure. The _fear_ was worse. Feeling your own body change like that; not knowing why, or what was happening, or if he’d even survive.”

Geralt closed his eyes for just a second; took a deep breathe. Willed his heart to remain steady, and slow. Not give in to the outright fury he felt. 

How dare she force Jaskier to relive that moment, to endure what he had that night. 

Reminded himself that he himself hadn’t been there because he’d lashed out at his songbird, unfairly and cruel. 

“I think that’s why it transferred to you, via the bond.” She continued as he remained silent. “The last thing the thought of was you. I’m not sure if it was that night, or just then, while I was watching. But it was enough to- share what he was feeling.” 

“So it takes intent, of sorts? Strong emotions?” Vesemir, ever observing, inquired. 

“I can’t say if it was what he felt that opened the door; or if he was in some way sending for Geralt, letting him know he was hurt. I would have to test-”

“ _No._ ” Geralt growled, not bothering to hide his anger. “You’re not doing that to him ever again. I don’t care if you won’t keep helping us. I’ll take him somewhere else. No one, _no one_ will hurt him like that ever again.” 

Yennefer had a pinched look on her face, but she didn’t push the issue. A wise decision, Geralt thought. 

“Either way.” She motioned towards the book. “This book has only confirmed what I’d suspected, as did the examination. If you’d rouse your bard, we could discuss it.”

Geralt didn’t move. 

Jaskier was so tired; had suffered so much today. To wake him now, only to give him information that might upset him.. No. That simply wouldn’t do. His mate needed rest, and food. Anything Yen had to say, Geralt could relay. If it was troubling news, he’d be able to deliver it gently. Spare Jaskier some hurt.

“Tell me.” He grunted, crossing his arms across his chest. “We can tell him later.” 

Vesemir gave a hum of agreement, standing from his seat.

“You two talk, I’ll cook. ‘bout time for supper.”

“Jaskier wants soup.” He’d be damned if he didn’t get his lark the food he craved; the desire to provide even stronger now that he was faced with the possibility of an upset Jaskier not far in the future.

Possibly feeling a bit guilty for not waking Jaskier to hear it first hand.

Yeah. Possibly.

“The first clues, obviously, that none of us had heard of a creature like him before. While you traveled here, I visited a few acquaintances, or their libraries, specifically. I didn’t find anything. It was safe to assume, whatever he was, it was older than the Conjunction of Spheres. 

Even Dauk and Wozgor were documented, and they existed long before the First Landing. I’m convinced that if his kind had appeared then, we would know about it. So, older than the Conjunction.

Admittedly, that didn’t leave me with much, but a few observations that were interesting, but no help in finding out what he was.” 

“For example?” Geralt prompted.

“For example, that he is a hybrid. Half human, half creature. It explains why I didn’t sense this when you brought him to me in Rinde. His magic was completely hidden, not strong enough to be picked up by me. He was, in a sense, very much human until that night in the woods.

That in turn means his kind can mate, and reproduce with humans. Which could mean that, when his kind meets a mate of any species, their magic can influence them, change their body to fit their needs. It would explain why you suddenly grew a knot when it was needed. “

“Hm.” She was right, that didn’t help at all. “What else?”

“Once Vesemir deemed it appropriate to show me the book he’d hidden away.” She threw a dirty look at the older Witchers back as he chopped vegetables- “I was able to confirm that theory; and more.”

“Out with it then, Yen. We don’t have all fucking day.”

“This book was written shortly after the Age of Migration.” 

She said it like it was something monumental; a game changer of some sort. Yet it meant nothing to him.

“The Age of Migration?” Yennefer huffed, clearly irritated as she spun towards Vesemir.

“Would teaching them _a little_ history have killed you?” She bristled. Geralt watched Vesemir shrug.

“Didn’t help them fight monsters. They had no use for it.” 

“Elves didn’t always live on this continent, Geralt.” Yennefer started, now resolutely ignoring the older Witcher. “They were forced from their world, no one knows by what. They used to be a bigger folk, called the Aen Undod. But when they left their world, eventually, they split into two groups. The Aen Seidhe, the elves as you and I know them; and the Aen Elle.

Its the Aen Seidhe that are our concern right now. Them settling the continent is what we call The Age Of Migration.”

“This book, the language in it; I can’t read it, no, don’t bother asking. But I’ve _seen_ something similar. In the hands of a man that was obsessed with everything Elven in nature. Especially the elves humans built their success on. This book- it was written a very, very long time ago- enchanted to last a thousand years and more. But the spell has become weak, worn out. Its why the writing is faded and the spine is so delicate.

Its a miracle its survived so long.” 

“So they were around before the elves.” Geralt echoed, still trying to comprehend. “But if they were documented by the Aen Seidhe, then why _haven’t_ we heard of them before?”

“A good question.” Yennefer replied, if somewhat begrudgingly. “I can’t say for sure. But there are a few possibilities. One of them is that their population was already declining, and as time went on, they simply died out. There was no need to record them further. 

What I think much more likely, is that the same thing happened to them that usually happens when a new species enters the picture. They were driven out; maybe even hunted or worse; systematically killed off over disputes of territory, or other things. Perhaps, the elves were afraid of them. There’s no way to say for sure.

What we do know, is that some of them must have escaped. Very few, most likely. They might still be hiding somewhere; maybe there was only the one left, the one that helped create your bard.” 

“You’re saying he might be the last of his kind?” 

“He could well be. Either that, or they are incredibly talented at evading detection of thousands and thousands of years. After all, we know nothing of them.” 

Despite the guilt, Geralt was grateful he hadn’t woken up his mate. The burden of knowing he could be the last- would never find out what we was, what he could do, where he came from- it would be hard to hear in the best of situations; and Jaskier was already rattled.

_Geralt_ was thrown by the revelation. A creature older than anything anyone alive could remember had fathered (mothered?) his bard. At least one of his parents weren’t truly his parents. Perhaps both of them. With Yen reaching the limit of her knowledge, they had no where to go. Their search had ended, with much fewer answers than Geralt had hoped for.

It was crushing. 

“You spoke of a man obsessed with everything Elven.” Vesemir’s voice startled Geralt out of his dark thoughts, forcing him to pay attention out of a habit ingrained in him since he’d come to Kaer Morhen. When Vesemir spoke, he listened. 

“Yes, I did.” Yennefer seemed reluctant to answer; so unlike her usual, confident self. “I know what you’re going to ask, old man. You want me to contact him, and ask for his help. If only it were so easy.” 

“He could help us?” Geralt asked, still unwilling to allow himself any hope. 

“He could. Yet if I came to him, asking about this book, this _specific_ creature. He’d have questions. If he thought for a second I knew something he didn’t, was hiding something that could help his research- we’d never be rid of him again. The only way to get his help would be to show him the book, and the bard himself.” 

T he very suggestion made Geralts skin crawl. 

“We should wait for him to wake up.” Vesemir grunted. “Before we go any further. Let him decide if the knowledge is important enough to risk exposing himself to another.”

Geralt nodded,  agreeing to let Jaskier decide;  and felt like a coward for it.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaay, new chapter! I'm sorry it took so long guys; for some reason, it took me several tries to write this one down to where I actually liked it. I hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> Thank you so much for all your support, you guys make me smile and keep me writing <3

Recounting the things Yennefer had told them to Jaskier, predictably, had been uncomfortable. Geralt hated seeing uncertainty on his mates face; despised the small traces of fear even more.

He’d been wise to make the bard eat first.

Jaskier was silent, presumably mulling over the new information, letting it sink in fully. Geralt didn’t interrupt him; his songbird needed time to process.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Jaskier asked after a short while.

“You were exhausted, my lark.” Geralt replied, leaning forward to nuzzle the bards cheek. “And Yennefer can be a bit- hmm. I wanted to make sure she didn’t upset you.”

“That’s.. sweet of you.” The bard turned his head to steal a kiss. “But next time, I’d like to be woken up. Please?”

Geralt wasn’t eager to agree to this. What if his bard was injured, and needed to rest, to heal?

In the end, he couldn’t deny his sweet bluejay anything.

“I’ll wake you.” He agreed, voice rumbling low in his chest. “You have my word.”

“Thank you.” The brunette gave a happy sigh, leaning against Geralts chest, wings draping themselves around the pair. “This man Yen mentioned. Do you think she trusts him?”

Geralt didn’t answer right away. Took the time required to properly examine the thought, and come to a conclusion.

Yennefer hadn’t mentioned the man’s name; but she’d seemed upset at the thought of being forced to seek his aid. The persistent nature she’d brought up certainly made _Geralt_ distrust him.

It wasn’t usually a bad trait; a certain level of persistence payed off quite often in a Witchers life.

In this case, however, the stranger would be relentless in his pursuit of _his_ bard. Wouldn’t rest until he’d found them, perhaps even in an attempt to _capture_ his sweet mate. The very thought of someone taken what was his enraged him, his lips curling back as a growl rumbled in his chest.

A soft coo, oh so delightful, calmed him. He reacted to his omegas sounds almost immediately; like it reacted in a part of his brain Geralt himself had no control over whatsoever.

“I don’t think she does.” He hummed, turning his head to catch a whiff of the bards scent from his hair. “Don’t think she likes him, either.”

“Must mean he really is an expert.” Jaskier said, thoughtfully. “If she had even a bit of doubt that he could help us, I don’t think she would have said anything.”

“Does that mean you want to reach out to him?” Geralt wasn’t sure what answer he expected, or hoped for. If they let this go now, they could lead a peaceful life. Far away from humans; and coin. They were both proficient hunters now; perhaps they could have a garden, grow a few crops-

As he considered his idea, he realized two things. He’d never thought that kind of life an option for himself before; he was a Witcher, he’d die a Witcher. Its just how these things go.

Secondly; he wanted that life quite badly. The idea of no longer killing monsters, or spit on by people; going without injury for more than a few weeks at a time-.. It sounded wonderful. Even more so if he got to share it with Jaskier.

Yet.. If they turned their backs on this chance, Jaskier might never know where he came from. A way to possibly find out what powers he had; maybe even learn about their culture. He had no idea how many pages had been dedicated to the bards species in the book, or how much useful information it held. Perhaps it held none at all.

But they’d never know for sure.

“Do you think I should?”

“I can’t make that decision for you, little lark.” Geralt murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to Jaskiers forehead. “Its you that he’ll want to study. You he might chase across the continent.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier gave a sign, pretty lips set in a frown Geralt wanted to kiss away. “Do you think I could go flying tonight? Just for a bit. It helps me clear my head.”

“I’ll ask Yen.” Geralt waited for black feathers to retreat from his sight, then stood, hesitated. He turned to Jaskier and lowered himself onto his knees. A position he had often assumed while meditating; never to kneel before another. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you. If you want to go and live in the wilderness, and never see a human soul again, we’ll do that. And if you wish to find this man, even if he does start to pursue you, I’ll stand with you against him.”

“Oh Geralt.” Jaskier smiled at him, a soft, tender thing. “That means a lot to me. Thank you, Alpha. I don’t deserve you.”

“You do.” Geralt replied, gently taking his mates hand into his own. Pressed a kiss to the back of his hand; a gesture he’d always found ridiculous. Had watched men fall to their knees for the one they loved and scoffed at them. Thought them pathetic. “You deserve _more_. Everything the world has to offer. I have no idea what I’ve done to be rewarded with such a prize as yourself, little lark.”

Now, he understood.

* * *

Jaskier had taken off into the dark under the watchful eyes of his Alpha, and Yen. She gave no indication that she was impressed by his bards grace, but Geralt knew her well enough to see it in her eyes. A surge of pride filled him.

That was _his_ mate.

“He hasn’t decided yet, I take it?” She asked, arms crossed over her chest as she looked up into the sky; whether to try and keep her eyes on Jaskier, or to look at the stars, Geralt didn’t know.

“No.” Geralt confirmed, allowing his eyes to wander. His mate loved the stars. Geralt almost feared that, one day, Jaskier would leave him to fly up and capture a star of his very own. A ridiculous, stupid fear to have, yet still quite real.

“What do you think he’ll do?”

“Don’t know.” Geralt replied evenly. “Whatever it is, I’ll go with him.”

“Geralt of Rivia, a romantic. Who would have thought.” Geralt glared at the sorceress, who was grinning at him in a rather smug way he did _not_ appreciate. “I have to say, I’m surprised.”

He shouldn’t ask. These sorts of conversations never went over well between them. He should just keep his mouth shut.

“What’cha mean?” He grunted.

_Fuck_.

“Well, I knew you were _fond_ of him. I just never expected you two to ever get together.” Yennefer turned her attention back to the sky. “You complained about him when we were together all the time. Well, except that last time.”

“Can’t explain it.” Geralt didn’t really _want_ to explain it, either. It didn’t matter how it had come to be. Not to him. 

“Ah yes, you never were very good with words.” 

They stood in silence then; neither seemingly having anything left to say. His mate had promised a short flight; to limit his time outside their protected quarters, just in case a human did happen to stumble out in the dead of night, and catch a glance of him.

He’d be back soon. 

Not a minute later, Geralt caught the sound of his bard returning; the slightest hint of flapping wings echoing into the silence. Too much sound approaching and a predator could lose its prey. But his mate made so little sound, even Geralt himself had trouble catching them. The perfect example of a sleek hunter; strong and silent and deadly. Goosebumps erupted all along his skin; the very concept somehow arousing.

“Keep it in your pants until you’re back, Witcher.” Yen quipped, glancing down at Geralts crotch. “Don’t think you’d enjoy having an audience.” 

Geralt grunted. She didn’t have to know she was right. 

Jaskier landed before them then, his feet slowly lowered onto the ground. Geralt gave him a once-over, out of habit alone. His bard was uninjured. Good.

“I think I’ve decided.” The announcement caught both Geralts and Yens attention. They looked at the bard, before quickly exchanging a glance with each other.

“What do you want to do then, bard?” 

“I’d like to contact him.” Came the soft reply. “I- I want to know where I come from. What I can do. If there’s a chance, however small it is, to find out- I _have_ _to_ take it.”

Geralt nodded, stepping forward, one hand coming to rest at his mates hip, the other at the back of his head; pulling him closer for a kiss.

“Then we will.” The Witcher rumbled, nipping gently at the bards lower lip. 

Yennefer huffed. 

“I’ll contact Istredd.” 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..Yeah, I wanted more smut. xD I'm sorry. I know you guys are looking forward to learning more about Jask, and getting Istredd around but. I couldn't help myself. So here it is! 
> 
> Thank you all for your amazing support <3 You make my day and keep me writing <3

They’d returned inside and made a plan. Contacting Istredd apparently wasn’t going to be easy as Geralt had hoped.

“He’s still close to Stregabor, from what I hear.” Yen had said, her face once more pinched in annoyance. “If he found out about Jaskier, well. You remember what he did to those girls, born during the eclipse.”

Geralt didn’t reply save for a sharp nod, preferring to ignore that matter.

“I’ll contact him over a friend.” Yennefer continued. “Someone that he has a good relationship with.”

“What kind of relationship does he have with you, then?” If Yen had to approach him via another person- was involving her going to endanger Jaskier?

“A complicated one, for sure. But I wouldn’t say we parted on bad terms.”

It’s all she’d had to say; from there, all they could do was wait.

* * *

Waiting, as it tended to, stretched long hours into even longer ones. Time seemingly slowing down only to torture them, just a bit.

Geralt had done his best to stay occupied, and more importantly, keep his bard from fretting.

Jaskier had began to pace around their quarters; sometimes standing at the window for a while, hoping to see a portal open, and bring forth Yennefer and her mystery man. Of course, they’d never agreed to bring the man here. It was Yen’s home, leading someone she distrusted here seemed unlikely.

They’d probably meet somewhere neutral; a place not easily spotted, should Istredd want to see Jaskier in person. Somewhere safe and, more importantly, far from here.

“Are you worried?” Jaskier asked, making his way from the window towards their bed; Geralt lazily lounging on the soft mattress and silken sheets. He’d spent hours waiting for various things many, many times in his life. Had learned to conserve his energy rather than tire himself out worrying over what would come to be. But Jaskier was only 40 years old.

A boy, compared to the Witcher. In time, he’d learn.

“Its only been two days.” He said, voice calm and even. “Mages are notoriously hard to find, if they’re not placed at a court. It’ll take time, little lark.”

“What if I made the wrong decision?” Jaskier asked, emotions flying over his face so quickly it was hard to keep up with them. Doubt, Fear, Apprehension, Worry, Curiosity, they all flitted over the bards features, like a hummingbird around flowers.

“You made the decision that was right for you, Jask’.” Geralt hummed. They’d know each other long enough for Geralt to see an outburst coming. He needed to calm his bard down, or he’d spend the next few hours with a ranting, upset bardling.

“But what if she gets hurt? What if he brings Stregabor here?” Jaskier huffed, picking up speed as he paced at the end of the bed. “What if in trying to protect me, you or Vesemir get hurt? Or even _killed?_ ”

“That won’t happen.” Geralt sighed. “Yen is smart. You can trust her to be careful with this. Stregabor won’t come anywhere near us.”

The Witcher stood, gently taking hold of the agitated man by placing his hands on slender hips; pulled the bard forward until they were chest to chest.

“You’ll run yourself ragged, songbird.” He murmured, running the tip of his nose against the bards cheek. “You need to relax.”

“I’m _trying_.” Jaskier whined, wrapping his arms around Geralts neck, stealing a kiss when he had the chance. “I took a bath, I tried to read, then I tried to compose. I can’t focus. I can’t even _sleep!_ ”

“Could give you something to focus on.” Geralt suggested, quirking a brow at his lark. They hadn’t laid with each other since the cycle. Too long, in his opinion. There had been more important things to deal with before; but now? They had nothing _but_ time, until Yen came back. Geralt didn’t expect that to happen any time soon. “Get you good and tired.”

“Oh my. Are you _flirting_ with me, Alpha?” Came the purred reply. There. Jaskiers scent was lightening. _Good_. 

“Believe I am.” Geralt huffed, amused. “Is it working?” 

“Mmm.” The bards expression turned into one of fake thoughtfulness. “I suppose that depends on what you say next.”

Hah. Seemed his omega wanted to play. Geralt could do that.

He leaned forward, nipping at the shell of his mates ear, pulling a soft keen from him; the smallest of shivers from his body. 

“Been wanting to try something for a while.” Geralt husked quietly. “So, if you’d let me; I’d undress you nice and slow. Kiss the air right out of your lungs, lay you down on our bed.” 

“No complaints so far.” The brunette breathed, attempting to sound nonchalant. His scent, and the slow hardening of his cock against Geralts thigh, however, gave him away. 

“Good. I want you to enjoy yourself.” The Witcher hummed, sliding one hand from slender hips to grab a handful of the bards ass, squeezing gently. “I’d suck your cock for a bit. See if I can take it all the way; haven’t given much head in my life, but for you, I’d try and swallow it all.”

His words pulled a soft moan from Jaskier, wings twitching upwards; a clear sign of his bards eagerness. 

“And then, when you’re needy and desperate to be filled. I’d get you on your hands and knees; you’d already be wet for me, wouldn’t you, darling?” 

“ _Yes_.” Jaskier mewled. “I’d be _dripping_ for you, Alpha.” 

“I know you would, sweetheart.” He growled, sinking his teeth into the bards earlobe, giving it a quick, sharp tug. “Always so eager for me. So hungry for my cock; my knot. Do you want that, lark? Want me to knot you again, like I did in our last nest?”

“ _Please!_ ” The bard was rocking his hips now, grinding against Geralts thighs, clawed hands digging into the back of his shirt. “Want your knot, Alpha. Want all of you.” 

“Not just yet.” Oh, he knew he was being cruel, but he couldn’t help it. Jaskier looked fucking sinful, cheeks flushed and wings spread wide- he was already leaking from the small glands on his wings. Geralt would have bet money that he was slick in _other_ places, too. 

“’Cause I want to taste you, little lark.” He continued, moving his hand from firm, supple flesh inwards; pressing against the bards opening through the cloth of his pants. “Taste you right here. Bet you taste sweeter than any fucking wine on the continent. Better than the everluce you love so much. Would you let me? Let me eat you out until you’re crying, _begging_ to be fucked and knotted? You’d look so good, little lark.”

O ne moment, Geralt was feeling quite smug, standing there with a very horny mate in his arms that shivered in his arms from the arousal he’d caused with just a few dirty words. 

The next, he was on his back on the bed, same horny bard straddling his waist as he ripped off the Witchers shirt. 

“You talk too much.” Jaskier breathed, moving his hands lower to fiddle with Geralts belt. 

“Easy, now.” Geralt chuckled, halting the bards desperate attempts to undress him. “Don’t rip ‘em.” 

“Then get your cock out, Geralt. Truly, must I do _all_ the work?” 

Jaskier had obviously been trying for indignation; but the trembling wings spread out above him defied his tone. Let Geralt know  _exactly_ how much the bardling wanted him.

Before Jaskier could protest, Geralt rolled them over, reverting their position. Jaskier gave an awkward squawk, arms flailing. As if he couldn’t believe Geralt would do such a thing. The bard was silenced by a deep, passionate kiss before he could protest. 

Thus distracted, Geralt managed to get rid of his  breeches without any further interference, throwing them off the bed to gods know where. He wouldn’t be needing them in the next couple hours. 

His cock stood hard and proud, twitching at the muffled noises of pleasure he was pulling from his mate. The base of his cock already beginning to tingle. 

“Fuck.” He grunted, pulling back just enough to allow the bard a breath. “See what you do to me? Got me so fucking hard, darling. Bet a few strokes would be enough to pop a knot.” 

“Alpha, come on, come one, _need you!_ ” Jaskier wailed, squirming as Geralt removed the pants he had bought, all those months ago. 

“Soon.” Geralt crooned, tossing the breeches off the bed to join his own. “Want to taste you first.”

He didn’t think Jaskier would last if he wrapped his lips around his pretty dick. Already he was hard enough to look painful; pretty cock twitching and jerking desperately, pale thighs covered in his slick. The scent drove Geralt  _mad_ . 

He wanted to turn the bard over and fuck him hard, mount and ride him until the sun set and rose again. Knot him again and again, until he was overflowing with Geralts seed. 

This wasn’t about him, though. This was about Jaskier. 

“Gonna taste that sweet little hole of yours.” He grunted, flipping Jaskier by the hips and pulling them upwards. “Gonna drink you down, make you come. Then I’ll fuck you, when you’re still open and sensitive. Make you come on my _fucking_ _knot._ ”

Jaskier actually fucking howled, spreading his legs as far as they’d go while still keeping his ass in the air; his chest hitting the mattress with a small thump. 

It was all the invitation he needed, and Geralt went to work. 

Hurriedly spreading the bards cheeks, he took no time to tease. Trailed his tongue over the bards opening, positively dripping with his slick. Fuck, Geralt had never thought anything could taste better than the oil of his mates wings, but fuck fuck  _fuck_ .  It exploded  against the slick muscle of his tongue , and he was lost. 

Did everything he could think to do to bring Jaskier pleasure, from nipping the sensitive skin to fucking his tight entrance  like he wanted to with his cock. . Pressing his lips against it in a mock kiss, humming  against wet skin. 

Jaskier had turned to a puddle beneath him, moaning and keening in the most delicious ways; pushing back into the Witchers ministration in pathetic little jerks, begging with his body when he was no longer able to beg with his voice. 

It didn’t take long, much less time than Geralt had  thought , and the bard was twitching, slick muscles trying to capture the Witchers tongue inside him; like it was trying to clamp down on a knot. 

It was the hottest thing Geralt had ever been lucky enough to witness. 

“That’s it, go on. Come for me, my sweet lark, my wonderful songbird.” He growled, replacing his tongue with the tip of his index finger, needing to talk, to praise his beautiful mate. 

“Can’t, I- I can’t, please, need _more!_ ” 

“You can.” Geralt replied, speeding up the motion of his hand without allowing for any extra depth. “I know you can, my wondrous lark, my divine songbird. Come for me. _Now,_ _omega_ _._ ” 

A howl of pleasure, and Jaskier  complied . Dirtying the fine sheets beneath him with his come, muscles clamping down around the Witchers finger, trying to pull him in, get him  _deeper_ . 

Geralt had meant to give his mate a short break. Really, he had. Yet watching Jaskier come on command was simply too much. 

Jaskier’s cock hadn’t even stopped emptying itself when Geralt mounted him, barely coherent enough to steady himself with one hand before  thrusting forward. A single, hard  shove and he was buried to the hilt.

He spared a second to listen for any complaints; but his mate didn’t protest. Gave a delighted cry at being filled so roughly. 

Geralt fucked him as if their life depended on it. Hard and rough, grabbing the bards hips and pulling him into his thrusts.  His climax threatening to spill over much sooner than he liked, his knot swelling, obscenely popping in out of of the slick ring of muscles  every time he pulled back, and pushed back in.

“So good for me.” He grunted, balls drawing tight to his body. “So good, my lark, my mate, fuck, gonna fill you up, stuff you full with my cock- _fuck_.”

H e was almost knocked over by the force of his bard bucking beneath him, his cock held in a vice like grip, squeezing so hard it made him fucking dizzy. Just a few more thrusts, he was so close, so fucking  _close_ \- 

Time seemed to stand still for the fraction of a second. Geralt felt removed from his body, almost floating. Then, he came crashing back. His knot swelled to its largest, tying them together. 

Jaskier screamed his pleasure as he came again, wings flapping, creating enough wind to push over books and other light objects. 

Geralt only able to gather enough strength to lay them on their sides, tangling their legs together, placing his arm to rest protectively over Jaskiers side, fingers splayed wide on the bards stomach.

“Think you can sleep now?” He asked, after a few minutes had passed, which he’d spent catching his breath. 

The soft snore coming from his mate was answer enough.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww guys, I'm so sorry its taken so long. I just havent been able to motivate myself to write with the temperatures being as they are. I am fucking melting. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter even despite the long wait <3
> 
> Thank you so much for all your support! You keep me smiling, and writing!

Yennefer was getting frustrated.

Four weeks she’d spent tracking down Triss, and then Istredd. Weeks away from the comforts of her home; spent in questionable inns with the hood of her cloak permanently tugged over her head to avoid detection; least Istredd be tipped off by someone. Or worse, that Stregabor himself was alerted to her presence.

She hated every minute of it.

If only she wasn’t so damn _curious_ to find out what Geralts bard had become. Yet, she couldn’t help it. Jaskier had, completely unexpectedly, become _fascinating_. His wings, the way he seemed to soar through the sky without exerting an ounce of effort. The way his soul had connected to Geralts.

It was academic fisstech, and she _needed_ to know. To unravel the puzzle she’d been presented with. What was the bard? Who were his parents? If one of them was an ancient being, how had it survived this long? Did they age at all? Had the pregnancy been brought on by a willing coupling?

Questions after questions that, even with Istredd, she wouldn’t get all the answers for.

That was fine, for now. She’d take what she could get.

That night, Triss finally returned with good news. Istredd had agreed to a private meeting.

Wonderful.

* * *

Things were not going well for Geralt and his mate.

For a fortnight, the Witcher had been able to distract and soothe his mate with hot baths and long hours of worshiping Jaskiers body until they were both exhausted. Ignored Vesemirs grumbled about  _“keeping it the fuck down”_ . His little lark needed this, needed to be loved on and coddled and made to scream at the top of his lungs with pleasure. 

The servants had all given him a wide berth, though he could feel the eyes of more-  _adventurous_ among them lingering on him for just a few seconds longer than necessary. Like they were calculating their chances of getting him into their own bed.

He’d wager if they’d seen the mysterious guest they’d been tending to for weeks now, they might have reconsidered trying to steal away his Alpha. For as sweet and gentle Jaskier was with him, Geralt had no doubt he’d make quick work of any perceived challenges to his mate.

As the days crawled by, Jaskier became more and more irritated. Soon, even knotting his bard repeatedly couldn’t stop the worried pacing, or the anxious fluttering of wings. When Geralt was exhausted, sated and slick with their juices, Jaskier would be on his feet; staring out the window or walking the length of their rooms over and over, until it made Geralt dizzy to watch. 

He understood, of course, what the bard was going through. It was nerve wracking, spending so much time waiting, scared of what was yet to come. Uncertain if the decision he’d made put them all in danger, and if so, how to keep everyone he loved safe.

B eing cooped up in the same room, however spacious, likely wasn’t doing Jaskier any favors, either. He had become, at his very core, a  _wild_ being. As much as he’d appreciated the novelty of a soft bed and hot water to bathe in, a restlessness had settled in the bards movements; one that Geralt himself was quite well acquainted with. 

Whenever he himself spent too much time away from The Path, not constantly on the move and hunting, the same itch would burn under his skin. To get back, to travel under the open sky and sleep under the stars.

The short flights the bard allowed himself under the cover of night were nowhere near enough to sate his needs, that much, Geralt was sure of. 

It was the very fact that he couldn’t do  _anything_ to help that was wearing the Witcher himself down; grinding on his nerves and making him more agitated with every lap the bard completed around their quarters. 

It came to a head on the night exactly four weeks after Yennefer had left.

Geralt had been unable to coax Jaskier into bed with him, or distract him with anything else. Vesemir had even offered to herd the servants out of the house for a few hours under false pretense so at least the bard could move around the villa freely. Jaskier had declined. The sorceress had been very clear. He was  _not_ to go exploring.

“Damn it Jaskier!” Geralt snapped, after spending the better part of the day watching Jaskier pace. “Fucking _stop_.”

It had been many, many years since he’d last adopted that tone with the bard. The reaction, compared to then and now, could not have been more different. Where Jaskier had stood slack mouthed and hurt on the mountain, now, he faced Geralt head on. Wings snapping outwards and  _up_ , threatening. 

“Oh _I’m sorry!_ ” The brunette snapped, eyes narrowing as he glared at the Witcher. “Is my inner turmoil bothering you?!”

“Your useless pacing is whats bothering me.” Geralt replied, none too kind. He couldn’t help it; as much as he wanted to remain calm, collected, they’d both seemed to reach their breaking point. “It won’t make her come back any sooner, so _fucking. Sit. Down_.” 

“Sit down.” Jaskier hissed, trembling with rage. “ _Sit down!_ I can’t fucking _sit down_ , Geralt, because all I can think about is what the fuck happened to Yen. What if she’s hurt? What if she’s _dead?!_ What if Stregabor got her, and is torturing her to find out her secret?! What if all I’ve done is doomed every single one of us to a life on the run, or a slow, _painful_ death?! So _excuse me_ if I cant sit on my ass and daydream!”

“Told you a thousand times _I’m not going to let that happen!_ ” Geralt growled back; not at all intending to back down now, not by a long shot. 

“Oh _please,_ you can’t protect everyone Geralt! Yen is off to gods know where; how exactly are you going to “not let that happen” if you don’t even _fucking_ know where she _is?! Hmm?!_ ” Jaskier took a step towards Geralts, long fingers twitching, the light of the sinking sun reflecting off black claws. “And even if you could find her, how the fuck would you go up against Istredd, Stregabor, and whoever else they hired, all by _yourself?!_ ”

“ _You_ don’t know if any of that is even going to happen.” Geralt stepped forward as well. Only inches separating them now. “I told you again and again, these things take _time_. We just have to wait. Yen is smart, cunning, and she’s lived for far longer than _you_ have. If anyone can deal with this, its _her_.”

“Well my apologizes, dear Witcher, I had _no idea_ you still held her in such high regard! Yennefer, the beautiful, _powerful_ witch, would surely never get into trouble, or injured! Its literally impossible!”

“At least she wouldn’t be pacing the floor like a whiny mutt and stealing my last nerve!” 

Geralt regretted the words the second they came out of his mouth. He’d lashed out again, just as he had before; though the pain that caused his anger now had a different source. Still, he shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have tried to hurt his bard just to spread his misery around. He thought he’d gotten a handle on his anger issues, but if anyone had ever been able to get under his skin, it was Jaskier. He had already opened his mouth to apologize when suddenly, he was grabbed by the scruff of his neck like an unruly pup, and tossed out the room.

“Well if you _love her_ so much, then maybe you should be with _her_ , instead!” 

The door slammed shut right in his face, and before Geralt could recover from the shock of what had just transpired, he heard the telltale sounds of something heavy being pushed, wood scraping over stone, before it all went silent. 

Despite knowing better, Geralt tried to push the doors open, only to find his suspicions confirmed. It was blocked. Jaskier had most likely barricaded it with something heavy enough to deny Geralt entrance, no matter how hard he tried. Perhaps with Vesemirs help he could force it open- 

“Let him be, pup.” The very man he’d just thought of was behind him, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Give him time. No use going back in to fight more.”

“You heard.” Of course he’d heard. 

“Was wonderin’ when you two were going to have your first fight.” Gently steering Geralt by the shoulder, the older wolf ushered him down the hallways. “Don’t worry too much about it; every couple fights. You both said things you regret. Best to give you both a chance to cool off before talking again.” 

Geralt gave a grunt in reply. 

* * *

“I was expecting Triss.” 

Yennefer smiled; Istredd looked as he always had. Young, handsome; with ice blue eyes and a strong jaw, lush lips  and beautiful dark skin . They hadn’t seen each other in- she couldn’t remember how long. Perhaps even  _too_ long.

“Ah, yes. Triss was a messenger, but it was I that requested your- _assistance_.” 

The small room she’d taken in an inn was more suited to pigs than humans, much less a sorceress of her talent; but it was safe, tucked away in the middle of nowhere, in a village that’s name had never been mentioned with any importance in the entire history of the continent. It was as safe as she could be. 

“You? Wanting _my_ help?” Istredd gave her an annoying fond smile. “I never thought I’d see the day.” 

“Technically, its my associate that needs your help.” She pointed out, if only to be petty. The rejection she’d suffered at his hands back when she’d found him dusting at the ruins he loved so much under Nilfgaards supervision- it seemed she was more upset about that then she’d admitted to herself. “There is, of course, something in it for you.” 

Everything came with a price, after all. Yen had learned that long ago.

“Of course. I’d never expect anything else from you.” There it was again, that infuriating smile. Like he knew something she didn’t that had nothing to do with the bard. “How can I help?”

“I need to know if you can restore and translate this.” Carefully, she pulled the book she’d taken from Vesemir when the old Witcher had fallen asleep in the kitchen once again. It wasn’t stealing if she intended to give it back. The stubborn old man would never have parted with it had he been given the choice. 

Istredd stepped closer, brows furrowing for a second before his eyes went wide.

“Where did you get this?” He asked, quite obviously awed. It made a smug satisfaction warm her chest.

“My associate gave it to me. Like you, they have a certain appreciation for old things.” She replied evenly, gently placing the book onto the sad excuse of a bed before them. “Handle it with care; I’ve promised no harm would come to it.” 

Where before, Istredd might have risen to the bait of her suggesting he’d be anything  _but_ careful, now, he didn’t respond at all.  Focusing completely on what was laid out before him, damn near  _caressing_ it. Pathetic. 

“Yen, this is- _wonderful_.” He lifted the books cover with the tips of his fingers, gently resting it against the linens. “This is Aen Seidhe, as you likely already know but-”

“Yes, its from the time when Elves first came to the continent.” Really, even if she wasn’t an expert on this particular topic, she wasn’t _clueless_. “I need you to tell me if you can _read_ it.” 

“Hmm. Given time, I could, of course.” Istredd replied without looking up. “Languages are much like people. They evolve, based on where they are spoken, who they’re spoken by; what happened during the time they were alive, for lack of a better term. I’d have to trace back the exact origin of it, to track down the dialect its written in. Like investigating a human being back to their place of birth.” 

Time. Of course it would take  _time_ .

“Time is an issue here, Istredd.” She huffed, hands coming to rest at her hips. That, at last, caught his attention. 

“Why is that? What could possibly be written in this that would be relevant to something now?” 

Yen forced her features to remain impassive, no matter how much she wanted to frown.  Somewhere deep down, she’d hoped he had lost his sharp mind. That it had dulled from decades spent dusting off whatever he had found that day. 

“First, we need to talk terms.” Istredd nodded, gave the book a last yearning glance, before he stood facing her again. 

“What are they?”

“You will keep this secret. From everyone. I don’t care who you are still loyal to, who you’re friends with. If the existence of this book somehow becomes common knowledge, I’d know where that information came from.” 

She didn’t need to utter an actual threat. He knew she was stronger than him; more powerful. Defying her would not end well for him. 

“If, any only _if_ , you can restore and translate the entire book, I’ll show you why it matters.” 

Baiting him with more information; she was sure it would work. Knowledge was Istredds strength, but also his weakness. 

B lue eyes caught her lilac ones; they stood in silence for a few moments before finally, he nodded.

“You have my word.” 

“I’ll need a bit more than your word.” She quipped. “The book stays with me. I go where it goes, at all times. I’m sure you can find someplace secure for you to study it, away from spying eyes. Once I’ve returned to my client, and let him know you’ve agreed, I will meet you there. Speak to Triss if you need to contact me.” 

Again, no protest, just a nod. 

Yennefer huffed. This hadn’t been nearly as fun as she’d hoped. Still, she’d gotten what she wanted. 

It hadn’t been a waste of time. 

A good day.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I finally managed to finish another chapter ; o ; Guys, I'm so sorry its taking me so long. I promise I am doing my very, very best to get chapters out! Please forgive ; o ; 
> 
> I hope very much that you guys can still enjoy this <3 Your comment, kudos, and all your support keep me smiling, and writing <3

Geralt stared at the wooden doors before him like as if he could will them to open if he just concentrated hard enough.

Predictably, the wooden structures remained shut.

Jaskier hadn’t allowed Geralt entrance the evening before, forcing the Witcher to sleep in a different room; separated during the night for the first time since they’d been reunited.

He hadn’t quite realized how accustomed he’d become to the breathing and warmth of another being; the weight of having a wing draped across him, or the unintelligible mumbling when the bard was experiencing a particularly intense dream.

With all that gone, Geralt had struggled to find a moments rest.

The bard had refused even Vesemir, who’d been kind enough to bring up food when the hour grew late. He’d been denied just the same as Geralt.

So, as the sun rose, ill-tempered and vexed by his mates stubbornness, he was sorely tempted to simply throw Aard at the door and blast his way in. It was a tempting course of action; the fear of further fighting the only thing that stayed his hand.

He’d knocked politely at first, called his mates name. He got no reply. Another knock, another call, still. Nothing.

Never having been the most even-tempered man, he’d quickly become tired of it.

His fist collided with the solid wood before he’d given himself to think of the consequences. The anger he felt perhaps most nourished by the anxiety buried beneath it. Had Jaskier fled? Had he managed to chase him away once more? Was this fight between them perhaps the beginning of the end?

If that was the case, how was Jaskier leaving him going to impact the bond between them? Would his mate suffer? What would he do during his heat? Find another man to sate his needs? A single human male would not suffice, not from what the Witcher had experienced. Would he find a group of men? Who would care for him _after_ ? 

Each question brought on more anxiety, stoked the flames of his anger higher. Fists flying against the doors he so desperately wanted to open. 

“This bodes well.” A voice behind him quipped. Geralt spun around, teeth bared and eyes narrowed. 

Yennefer. 

Of course. No one other but Jaskier would have the courage to mock him in his current mood. 

“Trouble in paradise?” She asked, sauntering over to him. Geralt replied with a grunt. “As much as I’d enjoy hearing about it, I’m afraid we have more important things to discuss.” 

With a flick of her wrist, the doors blew open; the massive bookshelf that had obviously been used as a barricade falling over with a deafening ‘thunk’, followed a split second later by the splintering of wood. 

“Have you gone _mad?!_ ” Jaskier was standing just half a foot beside the fallen piece of furniture, indignant and rather pissed off; wings flapping sharply. “You could have killed me!”

“Technically, it would have been the bookshelf that killed you, after crushing you.” Yen replied airily, stepping over and into the room. “If that _could_ still kill you. Which I doubt.” 

“That- That’s not the _point!_ ” Jaskier snapped, crossing his arms. 

“Do you want to hear what I’ve found out, or would you rather prattle on about _almost_ being crushed?” 

Jaskiers mouth snapped shut, brows furrowed, lips set in a firm frown. No reply seemed to be reply enough for the sorceress.

“Wonderful.” 

“What’s all the racket about?” Geralt turned his head and there stood Vesemir, looking equally disgruntled as Jaskier, eyes fixed on Yen. “I’d like back what you took from me, Witch.” 

“And you’ll have it back once I’m done with it. Now if you gentlemen are ready, I’d like to get this over with.” Lilac eyes were challenging as they settled on the older Witcher, waiting for any more protest. None came. 

“I’ve located Istredd. He’s willing to translate the book for us.” Vesemir’s mouth immediately opened; Yen continuing on before he could make a sound. “We’ve agreed that his access to it will be restricted- I’m not handing it over to him, I’m not an idiot. I’ll be present the entire time.”

“Just like that.” Geralt asked flatly. “Why do I feel there’s more to come.”

“Because you’re not an idiot, either.” Jaskier snorted at her words. “My, it seems I have missed quite the show. You are correct, however. He is not offering his services for free.” 

“What is it? What does he want?” Geralt asked, ignoring his irritation at the bards continuing petulance. They’d talk about _that_ when they were alone. 

“He wants to see what made this translation important enough to prompt my visit, and all the secrecy around its existence.” 

“Out of the question.” Geralt snarled.

“Seems dangerous.” Vesemir agreed. 

“Excuse me, but am _I_ going to get a choice in all this, or would you two rather lock me in a cage and be done with it?” 

G eralt turned to Jaskier, feeling an odd combination of anger and guilt. All together an extremely unpleasant combination, as he now found out. 

“Of course you do.” The Witcher sighed. Jaskier was right. As much as Geralt wanted to protect his mate, this wasn’t his decision to make. None of theirs but Jaskier himself. 

“How gracious of you, Geralt.” The bard snarked. “If it tells me what I am, where I come from, then I want to know. If that includes showing myself to him, then so be it.”

“Could be a trap.” Vesemir suggested, nodding towards Jaskier. “What if he shows himself, and your boy doesn’t translate the book, or translates it incorrectly? He could use the misinformation, or the simple presence of the bard, to attempt and capture him. You said he was smart. He probably already suspects somethings afoot.” 

“Firstly, he isn’t _my_ anything.” Yennefer replied coldly. “Secondly, the agreement we’ve reached doesn’t call for Jaskier to reveal himself until after the book is translated. As for translating incorrectly; its a possibility he could _try_. I doubt he’d be able to hide it from me if he did.”

“How sure of that are you?” Jaskier glanced at Geralt, then quickly flicked his eyes back to Yen. “That you’d know if he was trying to cheat us?” 

“Quite sure. I’ve read his mind before. And I’ve had much more practice then I did back then.” 

She said it with such confidence, Geralt was hard pressed not to believe her. His bard, however, seemed appeased. 

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” He decided, resolutely nodding his head. “Once its translated, we’ll have to find a place where I can meet him without endangering us, or anyone else.” 

“I will say, that the process could take months.” 

Geralt flinched.  _Months_ . Fucking hell.

“We can’t stay here for months, Yen.” He groused; already they were all experiencing cabin fever; Jaskier most of all. It had already lead to a fight, any more time spent cooped up like caged beasts- the thought of the consequences that would arise made Geralt shudder. 

“No, you can’t.” The sorceress agreed, unusually obliging. “Which is why, while you were all lazing about, _I_ did some work.”

In that moment, he very badly wanted to strangle the woman. She had no idea just how challenging the last month had been. How upset he’d been over the state of his mate, growing increasingly worse by the day. He hadn’t been  _lazing about_ by any means. 

He reigned in his anger once more, reminding himself that they needed her. Jaskier needed her. 

Yen walked towards Jaskier, pulling a necklace from a pocket hidden in the fabric of her dress, holding it out to the bard expectantly. 

The necklace itself was thin, made from silver. It looked delicate, easy to rip off. He’d bet money on it being enchanted to be far more durable. On it hung a pendant, a wolf howling at the moon; dainty, yet expertly crafted. 

“..Thank you?” Jaskier took hold of the item being offered to him, confusion written on his face clear as day. 

“You’re welcome.” Yen responded, lips curled into a smile the Witcher recognized to mean trouble. “Try it on, then.”

Geralt shrugged as his mate turned to him, not knowing what else to do. It seemed an odd gift for sure, but if he knew the black-haired witch at all, there had to be more to it than met the eye.

A moment later, Jaskier did as she’d requested; slipped the necklace over his head and around his neck, allowing it to settle onto his chest. It hung in between his collarbones, at the very top of his sternum, and for a moment, nothing happened. 

“Oh.” Jaskier gasped, turned to look over his shoulder, Geralts gaze following the bards only to realize- the wings were gone. His eyes flickered upwards, expecting to see the black horns he’d become so accustomed to. They too had disappeared. 

“I- Yennefer, is this-” 

“A very, _very_ strong glamour. It will hide your wings, and all the other beastly features you have. Once you take it off however, you’ll be your old self.” For once, seeing Yennefer smug and self satisfied did not annoy him. If this meant what he thought it did..

“I figured the two of you would be at each others throats after being confined for so long. Gods know I couldn’t stand that much time with either of you without possibly committing murder.” She was intentionally keeping her tone casual, adding a bit of mockery for good measure. Yen had never been good at admitting she cared. Geralt had the sudden urge to hug her, and without thinking, he did.

“Thank you.” He breathed, squeezing her tight before releasing her. 

Jaskier was silent, one hand clenched around the pendant, the other hanging limply at his side. He was trembling,  the scent coming off him partly radiating happiness, but also-  _sadness_ . It utterly bewildered the Witcher, these conflicting emotions. 

Didn’t Jaskier realize what this  _meant?_

They could go into towns and villages, could mix with humans; he’d be able to get a new lute and play his songs once more, could get entire rooms at inns to join in and sing along with him. He’d once again earn the recognition and adoration he’d so enjoyed back when he’d been younger. 

So why was he upset?

“Thank you Yennefer.” The bard finally spoke, allowing a small, genuine smile to grace his lips. “This is- it was very thoughtful. I don’t think I could ever repay you-”

“No one asked for payment, bard.” Yen countered, brushing him off. “It was completely self serving. Can’t have you two taking apart my home while I’m gone. This gives you even more reason to leave.” 

“Couldn’t have that.” Geralt agreed quietly, feeling so very fond of the sorceress for what felt like the first time in years. 

“Of course not.” Jaskier hummed in reply, turning his back to the them. “I’d like to be alone, if you don’t mind. This is- a lot to take in.” 

Geralts first instinct was to refused, only to be quickly relieved of the fondness he’d felt only a moment ago. 

“We’ll leave you too it.” Yennefer cut in, grabbing Geralts arm and tugging him along. “We can all have lunch together in a few hours, I’ll have the servants bring it up. Just make sure to hide in the bathroom when they knock.” 

* * *

“The fuck was that for.” Geralt growled, eyes narrowing as he watched Yen move across her study. “I _wanted_ to talk to him.”

“Only you could be so oblivious, you know that?” 

“Oblivious to _what_?” 

This conversation was going nowhere, Yen was fucking toying with him, wasting time he should be spending with his mate-

“How he feels.” He blinked at her, eyebrows furrowed in displeasure and mounting confusion. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Truly Geralt, sometimes I wonder if you were dropped on your head as a child.” Yennefer sighed, long and dramatically, irking the Witcher even more. “He’s _jealous_. How do you not see that?” 

“Jealous.” Geralt repeated. “Jealous of what?”

“..You can’t be serious.” She glared at him, searching his face for a second. “I really can’t tell if you’re trying to mess with me or not.”

“Damn it Yen, spit it out.” He ground out; the last twelve or so hours had been trying enough. Geralt had no patience left. 

“I assume you mentioned me during your little fight?” Perplexed, Geralt stilled. How did she-

“How did you know?” 

“Because the second you hugged me, your bard looked like someone had just murdered his puppy right in front of him. If he was sure of you, he wouldn’t have cared. He’s jealous.” 

“He has no reason to be. He _knows_ that.”

“Does he?” She asked, tapping a nail against her lower lip, a mock expression of wonder. “You see, the way _I_ remember it you sent him away because of me. Of course, we haven’t been together since that day, but he’s seen a lot of what you did for me.”

“I’ve done a lot for him, too.” Geralt immediately argued. “You saw it when you went poking around his mind-”

“Yes yes, you’ve been _wonderful_ to him.” The sorceress snorted, rolling her eyes. “But that was after how many years of being cruel? You can’t blame him for still being a bit insecure. Would you enjoy him meeting that woman he used to sing about, what was her name..”

“Countess de Stael.” 

He’d remember that name until the day he died. 

“Yes, that one. What if they crossed paths again? Would you be absolutely sure that there was no possibility of the spark igniting between them?” 

Geralt frowned so hard it almost hurt. 

He couldn’t be sure. Not really. He’d always fear losing his bard. 

“He’s jealous.” It was hard to admit, even harder for him to understand when he knew for a fact that he’d never leave his mate. But Jaskier feared he would.

Geralt wouldn’t allow that fear to continue for another second.

“Thank you.” He forced out between clenched teeth. As annoyed as he was, as much as he wanted to _not_ admit she was right again; she’d helped him.

“You’re welcome. The doors will be repaired by the time you get up there. Try not to scare the humans with your sex noises, hm?” 


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. I'm gonna be suuper honest here. ..I have no idea where this came from. Lol. I hadn't planned in a proposal or a ceremony or anything. But hell, it felt right writing it. I stand by sappy, sentimental Geralt damn it! 
> 
> Next chapter: Jaskier gets to visit a village! Woo! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support, the lovely comments, and all the kudos; as well as being so wonderfully understanding for the long waits between chapters! You guys make my day, and keep me writing <3 Give yourself a hug y'all. You deserve it!

As promised, after Geralt had returned to the doors of their quarters, the doors were back where they belonged; like they hadn’t been pounded on by an enraged Witcher, then blown off their hinges by a witch.

He had to give it to Yen; she kept her word.

Now, all he had to do was open them. Open them, and convince Jaskier that he had no reason to be jealous of her. With enough time left to not be interrupted by the servants that would be bringing up lunch in a few hours.

Except, how was he supposed to _do_ that, exactly? How did one prove to their mate that they were not just faithful, but quite happy to remain so for the rest of their years? Wasn’t staying at the bards side through all of this, his eyes never straying even for a second to anyone else, enough?

For a second, he imagined what it would be like if Jaskier ran into the Countess again, now that he’d been given his human form back to some extent. She’d have aged, no doubts; but Jaskier had never seemed to care about the age of those who’s bed he’d shared in the past. She’d be around Jaskiers own age, if Geralt remembered correctly.

Would he feel jealousy at their reunion?

He thought back on how often Jaskier had returned to her side after they’d ‘ended’ things; how he’d lamented each break up until the day he was allowed back. How he’d seemed genuinely upset each time.

He played the fantasy out further in his mind; Jaskier hugging the woman he’d once slept with, numerous times. Happy their paths had crossed, charming a room for them out of her with his unique charm; not intending at all to lay with her again.

Rationally, the Witcher knew, he had no reason to be jealous.

Jaskier had always been a tactile creature. He touched and hugged and pressed kisses to foreheads and cheeks with the same ease that Geralt sharpened his sword. A hug didn’t mean anything with him.

Still, the idea of his bard touching someone he’d been so intimate, so in love with- it made his gut clench, his chest tighten. It hadn’t even happened, but he knew already that it would bring him to the limits of his carefully cultivated control.

No amount of reassurance would ever make that nagging voice in his head, whispering ‘ _but what if_ ’ go away.

If only he could think of a way to make his mate feel more secure about their relationship. Perhaps he should have actually thought about it before attempting to sooth his lark, instead of stupidly standing before closed doors.

“I can hear you breathing, Geralt.”

“Fuck.” Geralt cursed. He’d forgotten how much keener his mates senses had become. Steeling himself, the Witcher pushed open the doors just wide enough to allow himself entrance; squeezing between the aged wood like a child stealing its way into the pantry to acquire a sweet it’d been forbidden.

“Fuck indeed.” Jaskier echoed calmly, standing at a large window, his back still turned. He seemed to be holding the pendant he’d just been given, running a clawless finger along it. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Geralt replied, making no attempt to come closer. He didn’t want to crowd his mate, make him feel pushed into a corner. He’d asked for space, after all.

“I can’t say I saw this coming.” The bard continued, sounding lost in thought. “For so long, I’d been longing for my human form, for all that came with it. Playing a lute again. Wandering through a lively city, just to hear the people talk. Visiting bathhouses and taverns and singing for a crowd.”

“You could do all those things, if you wanted.”

“Yes. If I wanted.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to?” Geralts brows furrowed in confusion once again. “You could go back to being who you were before..”

He trailed off, unwilling to bring up the blasted mountain; as much for his own comfort as fear of upsetting his love further.

“What if I’m not who I was before, Geralt?” Sighing, Jaskier turned to him, the pendant once more resting against his skin. “If I discover that what used to bring me joy no longer does?”

“Then we’ll find you something else to love.” Geralt improvised, feeling so far out of his depth that he might as well have had the floor pulled out from under his feet. “I can’t tell you what it will be like, going back to your old life. We just- have to try it.”

“Something else to love, hm?” That, at least, made a lopsided smile appear on the bards face. Geralt felt a weight ease off his chest. At least he’d done one thing right today. He’d made his mate smile.

“The worlds a big place.” The Witcher said, giving a small shrug. “The continent itself is vast. We have time to explore every corner of it, if that’s what you want.”

“But then who would be here to save everyone, if you’re off discovering far away lands and exotic new places with me?” It sounded like it was intended as a joke, Geralt thought. Like the bard was intentionally downplaying the meaning of the words.

Geralt considered them all the more carefully.

There weren’t many Witchers alive anymore. With one missing, the burden of their profession would fall to those that remained. Eskel and Lambert would have more coin with more work, but it also meant more strain on them, their bodies. Less time to rest, to heal.

Geralt frowned. He hadn’t considered any of that.

“Luckily, I don’t think I fancy any grand adventures anytime soon.” Jaskier hummed, easily picking up on the Witchers grim thoughts. “Aside of braving a village or two, perhaps.”

Geralt could have left it at that. Promised the bard they’d leave at first light, find their way to the next village where they could purchase a lute and some of the ridiculously colorful clothing his bard had such a taste for.

But he wasn’t a coward. Not anymore.

“I don’t want Yen.” He blurted out, cringing at how helpless he sounded even to his own ears. “I only want you. I hugged her because I was grateful to her for what she did. Giving you back what had been taken for you.”

“I know.” Jaskier admitted softly. “I have no reason to doubt you, Geralt. You’ve given me no reason to. I seems I cant help myself. No matter how many times I tell myself that you aren’t the kind of man that goes behind their lovers back, that you’ve done nothing but show me again and again that your heart belongs to me, I-”

“You still think ‘ _what if_ ’.”

“Indeed. What if.” Jaskier lowered his head, eyes falling shut. “I’m sorry Geralt. About the fight, about- _feeling_ this way when you don’t deserve it. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I think about it too.” Geralt rumbled, uncomfortable talking this openly about what he felt. Their relationship had become so much more physical since his bard had turned; a touch conveying more easily what the Witcher was feeling than words ever did. But Jaskier had to heard them, _needed_ to hear them, spoken out loud.

“About being with Yennefer?”

“ _No!_ ” Gods above, how did anyone manage to do this without losing their mind, Geralt wondered, growing increasingly frustrated with himself. “I think about what it would be like if you found another. Perhaps you’ll run into someone you used to know in a village, or a city-”

He would _not_ say her name out loud. 

“\- and decide that you can’t forgive me for my treatment of you after all? Or that they are simply better suited for you. That a soft, warm bed beats sleeping in the dirt, or fine foods and wines are more to your liking than roasted rabbit on a stick. That settling down instead of running into danger and risking your life every other day is what you want now?”

J askier was staring at him, eyes wide,  mouth gaping, an expression that reminded Geralt a bit of an owl he’d startled during a hunt once. In a different situation, it might have been amusing. 

“I’m afraid I won’t be what you want, too, little lark.” He added, if only to break the tense silence that had settled between them. “I understand.”

“..We’re both idiots.” Jaskier declared, crossing the distance between them with quick steps, wrapping his arms around the Witchers neck, pressing their foreheads together. “I was happy to go without all that when I was human, and that hasn’t changed. Though I will insist that you take me along on hunts from now on. I can help, not to mention that it will spare me from spending hours afraid and praying that you’ll return to me.”

“Didn’t know you were religious.” Geralt grunted; utterly overwhelmed with the situation, with all the emotions he couldn’t have named if his life had depended on it. He was feeling.. _things_.

“I’m not.” His mate admitted, pressing a kiss to the Witchers lips. “But I would have done anything at all to have you come back to me. Including, but not limited to, handing over my very soul.”

“I’ll always come back to you.” He huffed, not quite at ease with the notion of allowing Jaskier to join him in monster hunting, no matter how strong he had become. A concern to be brought up another time. He didn’t want to fight again. “Always.”

“Good. Because I’d have to track you down in the afterlife and kill you if you left me like that.” The bard whispered, nuzzling the tip of his nose against the tender skin of Geralt’s neck. “As for finding some person that suits me better than you, I’m afraid to inform you my love, but there does not exist a being that rivals your handsome, sweet self. You were stuck with me before, and you are stuck with me now. For however many years we are granted. Til death do us part, so to speak.”

Geralt froze.

Til death do them part. 

Huh.

“Geralt?” 

“We should get married.” It came out before Geralt could bite his tongue. Burst from some place buried deep in his chest. It was an odd time to realize that he’d _wanted_ something as mundane as a wedding, a ceremony, whatever- yet it felt completely in keeping with them. Jaskier always brought out things in Geralt he’d never expected from himself.

“..I’m sorry, did you say we should get _married?_ ” Jaskier was back to his owlish look of disbelieve, pulling back just far enough to stare at the Witchers face. 

Well, he’d already started this conversation. He could finish it. 

“Yes.” Geralt grunted, forcing himself not to turn away from his mate in utter horror at how fucking sentimental he’d become. “It won’t be official, not for humans. It could just be a private ceremony.”

“A private ceremony.” Jaskier parroted, blinking. Geralt felt his cheeks heating up. When was the last time he’d blushed like a stupid boy? 

“If you wanted it.” 

Gods above, may the floor swallow him hole. This was absolutely mortifying. 

“..This may be the strangest proposal of all times.” Jaskier said, only worsening Geralts discomfort. He was tempted to take it back, to tell his mate to forget about it, it had been a stupid idea, when-

“ _Yes_. Of course I’ll marry you, Geralt.” Came the hushed whisper, instantly melting away all of Geralts doubts. “Anywhere you want, at any time, with whoever you want there to witness it.” 

Geralt felt- elated. Like he was soaring through the clouds; like he’d just climbed the highest mountain, killed the most notorious of beasts, his chest filled with so much love he feared it would tear through his skin. 

“Will we have rings? _Oh_ , will there be flowers? I always imagined white lilies should I ever settle down. And food, Geralt, what will we serve- _umpf!_.”

“You talk too much.” He growled as he pressed the bard up against the next best wall, holding him firm with the weight of his own body. 

“Make me stop, then.” The bard challenged, his grin so wide it was almost too large for his face. 

“Your wish is my command.” 

* * *

Hours later, sweaty and sated, Geralt nuzzled his bards neck. 

The servants had never brought up the lunch Yen had mentioned earlier; whether she hadn’t intended to have it in the first place, or the servants had simply been chased away by the passionate sounds leaking from their room, he did not know.

“We can leave tomorrow.” He rumbled, nipping his mates earlobe. “See about those villages.” 

“Mmh. That sounds wonderful, Alpha.” Jaskier cooed, radiating content. “We should make use of the bath once more before we leave.” 

“For bathing, or..” Geralt teased, pulling a sweet little chuckle from his bard. 

“Who knows, my love. We’ll simply have to see what happens.” 


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! New chapter! I made it! As always, I hope you guys didn't mind the wait e. e And more importantly, I hope you enjoy the chapter! Thank you all so much for sticking with me, and this story; for being so patient with me, and all your amazing comments! You guys keep me smiling and writing <3

Geralt had been tense since the moment he’d woken.

Today, they left the protection of Yennefers mansion, and set back out into the world. Onto the path, filled with monsters and humans. The latter was what Geralt currently worried about.

They’d shared their plans with Yen and Vesemir that evening. They were going to travel together, as they had for many years, where ever Geralts work took them. Both the sorceress and the older Witcher had seemed relieved; though Geralt was sure for completely different reasons.

Vesemir would travel with them for a few days, before making his way back to Kaer Morhen. What remained of the school needed tending, preparing for the next winter. Geralt would be sad to see the old man go, but he understood that it had to be this way.

Yennefer herself would be meeting up with Istredd, to supervise his translation. He’d made her promise multiple times that the second the translation was finished, she’d find them. His mate deserved to find out where he came from; learn about his people, maybe even their culture.

He hoped the blasted book wasn’t just an extermination guide; a detailed account of how to trap and kill the creatures.

He’d seen those kinds of books before.

Letting Jaskier sleep in, Geralt gathered their meager belongings to stash away. Next came the provisions. The Witcher grabbed anything he could see that would keep during their travels. Too much perhaps; yet he couldn’t stop himself. Jaskier had been provided with regular, _good_ meals three times a day since they’d arrived. Geralt just wanted to make sure his songbird didn’t go hungry.

With everything taken care of, there was nothing left for him to procrastinate with. He’d have to wake Jaskier, bathe with him (among others things, possibly), and they’d be on their way.

* * *

The bath, as expected, had turned into a little something else. Geralt wasn’t complaining. Sleeping out under the stars his little lark loved so much would be a relief, after so much time spent shut inside. It also meant that they would have little privacy until they split up with Vesemir. He made sure to take full advantage of their coupling, knowing they’d soon have to go without. After a month of having sex multiple times a day, it would be a cruel change.

Chain around his neck, and glamour in place, Jaskier now stood beside Roach; petting her strong neck as he softly spoke to her about the adventures ahead. He had no chance of fighting down the fond smile that curled his lips, though Geralt found he wasn’t particularly bothered by it. There would be more than enough times where he’d have to keep his face blank, control his expressions. For now, an open smile would not perturb anyone.

“You’re sickening, you know.” Geralt rolled his eyes, turning to Yennefer with a huff.

“How so?”

“Just the way you _look_ at him. Its disgustingly fond. Unbearably in love.” The sorceress wrinkled her nose in mock distaste.

“Hmm.” Geralt couldn’t deny any of it. He was incredibly fond of his bard. Unbearably in love with him.

“It’ll be good to have you out of the house.” She continued, sauntering to stand beside the Witcher. “The servants are convinced some sort of sex demon was shut away in your rooms. Said the sounds they heard were _ungodly._ ”

Had he been younger, Geralt might have blushed; perhaps even felt ashamed. All he could feel now was pride. He’d fucked his mate well, until the screams of pleasure simply couldn’t be contained any longer. His cock gave a twitch of interest. 

“Hope they enjoyed the show.” He rasped, trying for serious and missing by a mile. 

“Oh, I’m sure some of them did.” The witch chuckled, eyeing Geralt from the side. “I have something for you, before you leave.”

“You’re being awfully generous.” Geralt remarked dryly. “What is it?”

“Just coin.” Yennefer hummed, holding out a pouch of not inconsiderable size. He was about to refuse when she barreled on. “Your bard will need a lute, dear Witcher. Some new clothes as well. He can’t walk around wearing your shirts forever. If I remember correctly, he was quite fond of expensive, silken outfits, no? A pair of good shoes, too, cover up his weird toes.”

Geralt scowled. He  _liked_ Jaskier in his shirts. Their scents mingled, letting everyone know that the bard had been  _claimed_ . A selfish reason to keep the bard in his shirt, he had to admit. 

Clothes of the quality his bard enjoyed were expensive. Geralt eyed the pouch with a frown. 

“We’ll pay you back.” He finally said, accepting the coin warily. “Thank you, Yen.” 

“You’re too stubborn for your own good sometimes.” Yen lamented, but Geralt didn’t miss the mirth shining in her eyes. “Stay safe, Witcher. Keep your family safe, too.” 

* * *

The change in Jaskier, once back in the wilderness, was remarkable. 

Where before, he’d been irritable even on good days, the bard was his old, cheerful self once they’d left the mansion behind. He hummed, sang, talked, and danced around the horses. A never ending stream of sounds. 

If anyone had told him, back when he’d first met Jaskier, that he’d be relieved,  _happy_ even, to listen to the bards warbling, he’d never have believed it. 

Yen had pointed them in the direction of a small village, two days travel away. Jaskier had agreed that a large settling, or even a city, would likely be too overwhelming.  His bard seemed excited about the prospect of arriving, yet Geralt was still tense.

What if he lost his pendant, revealing himself accidentally to the surrounding humans? Or someone decided to attack them, if the usually spitting and cursing about Witchers not enough to sate their distaste? And what worried him most; What if some tavern girl decided to flirt with his mate, and Geralt himself lost control of his new urges?

The multitude of situations that could go sour kept Geralts muscles strained, his lips set in a frown. Perhaps this hadn’t been the best idea after all. Wouldn’t waiting to find out more about Jaskiers kind be wiser? Give them more information to-

“I can hear you thinking from here, darling.” 

Geralt gave a grunt, looking up from where he’d been sharpening his swords. He wanted to be prepared, just in case he needed them. 

Jaskier was sprawled out in their nest, dressed only in Geralts black shirt, much to the Witchers satisfaction. Vesemir had retired an hour earlier, snoring away on his bedroll while Geralt couldn’t even think about sleep. 

“Come lay with me, Alpha. Its a cool night. Keep me warm.” The bard cooed, stretching an arm out towards him. Geralt wasn’t fooled; the little devil knew exactly what he was doing. Appealing to Geralts need to protect, an urge he’d had long before his transformation.

It would have been irritating, if Jaskier wasn’t so damn cute. 

“Slept through colder nights.” Geralt replied grumpily, if only to keep face. The truth was that all his songbird had to do was call, and he would follow. Still, best not to let it get to his pretty larks head. 

H e put his swords away, complying with his mates wishes. Laid himself down behind Jaskier with a sigh, reprimanding the mans blatant mischief with a nip to his neck. 

“’s strange.” Geralt hummed as he nuzzled against the bards neck. “Seeing you without your wings.” 

“It is, isn’t it?” Jaskier agreed quietly, moving his head to allow Geralt easier access. “They’re such a big part of who I am now. It feels odd, not having them.” 

“Won’t have to wear the pendant all the time.” Geralt replied, giving another nip to delicate skin. “Can go into the mountains, or deep into the woods.” 

“That sounds wonderful.” His mate sighed, eyes fluttering shut. “Now stop biting me. I’m not food, dearest.”

“But you taste so good, little lark.” Oh, this was dangerous territory. Already he could scent the bards arousal wafting up from below-

“Keep your cock in your pants, the both of you, and for the _love of gods_ , let an old man sleep.”

* * *

T hey arrive at the village around noon. 

Every step closer made Geralt more anxious. His hands twitching to grab for Jaskier, or his swords. He’d clearly underestimated the effort it took to let his songbird out into the world, where there was so much evil, so much hurt.

He just had to keep telling himself that things would be fine. It was a small village, barely large enough for an inn that was also the local tavern. Fuck, more cows claimed this land their home than people did. 

There was no reason to be so on edge. He’d just have to keep a close eye on his mate. It would turn out alright.

They’d barely made it to the tiny market at the villages middle when Jaskier stopped, grabbing for Geralts arm and squeezing tight. 

Alarmed, Geralt moved closer, eyes darting over the market and the people in it. What had Jaskier seen that had caused this reaction? An old enemy? 

“Gods, Geralt, how do you-” The Witchers attention snapped back to his mate. “Its so _loud_ , and the _smells_..”

Looking decidedly pale, Geralt quickly realized the issue. After years of living in the woods, the scent of this many people, of livestock, dirt and sweat, was assaulting his larks senses; leaving the poor man overwhelmed, possibly even nauseated. 

Geralt remembered his first time in Novigrad. He’d barely made it into the room he’d rented at an inn before he was retching. 

“Lets find the inn, get a room.” Geralt muttered, knowing Vesemir had likely caught up with the problem as well. It had taken a bit of gentle encouragement to make Jaskier move towards, not away from, the market. It couldn’t be helped, as the inn was on the other side. 

Quickly ushering the bard into the tavern, praying that the scent in there wouldn’t be the straw that broke the camels back, Geralt wasted no time to get a room. The tavern owner had looked at him dubiously, then nodded towards Jaskier.

“Ain’t the plague or nothin’, issit?” 

“Just an upset stomach after eating the wrong berries.” Vesemir replied before Geralt could snarls at the man. 

“Aye, poor lad. I’ll have one’a the girls bring ‘im up some tea, if ya like. Help settle his insides.” 

It was unnecessary, but Geralt nodded anyway. He managed a growled “thank you” as he handed the man some coin, before dragging Jaskier up the creaking wooden stairs and into their room.  Vesemir could have his own room for the night.

Jaskier nearly collapsed onto the bed with a groan. 

“Better now?” The Witcher asked, gently rubbing the bards back as he sat down beside him. 

“A bit.” The bard replied, turning to lie on his side, resting his head on Geralts lap. “How do you deal with all that, darling? Oh, all the cities I forced you into, I’m so sorry-” 

“Hush. You didn’t know.” Geralt scolded quietly, brushing through brown locks with his fingers. 

“You _told_ me it was overwhelming. I just didn’t listen. I am sorry for that, love. I should have known better.” The bard moved, rearranging himself to straddle Geralt, nose tucked securely against the Witchers neck. 

“Forgiven.” Geralt hummed, arms wrapping themselves around the bards chest, holding tight. “Its hard to understand if you haven’t experienced it for yourself.”

“I’ve experienced it now.” His mate gave a displeased huff. “Maybe I should simply accept that I’m not human enough to live among them. Live in the woods, be done with it.”

“If that’s really what you want. But somehow, I doubt it.” Geralt pressed a kiss to the bards head. “You will get used to it; learn to focus on one thing, instead of all of them at once.”

“Is that what you do?” The bard questioned, pulling back to glance at him. “What do you focus on?”

“Hmm. Before, it was the scent of fresh hay. Roach. Something I was familiar with.” Anticipating the bards curiosity he continued. “Now, its you. Your scent. My scent on you.” 

“My Geralt, that is quite romantic!” The bard chirped, clearly pleased with his answer. Looking less miserable by the minute, Geralt considered his job of soothing the bard well done. 

“As I’m having a hard time focusing on a single thing myself right now..” His mate trailed off, eyeing the bed they were currently on. “Perhaps you could, ah, _distract_ me.”

Geralt chuckled. 

“You’re insatiable, little lark.”

“And you love me for it.” 


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Here comes a whole lot of information for you guys. Yay! I know its taken a long ass time to get here, but I very much enjoyed the journey up to this point. I hope you guys did too! Let me know what you think about the lore <3 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your amazing support <3 You all keep me smiling, and writing!

The first lute Geralt glimpsed, he bought.

It was nowhere as nice as the one his bard had owned before; lacked its fine carving, the beautiful wood. It sounded differently, as well. Just a bit less precise, a bit less- something.

Jaskier didn’t care.

When he presented the instrument to his mate, he was _ecstatic_. Torn between fawning over his new gift, and Geralt in equal measures. It ended with a quick, sloppy fuck up against a tree. Jaskier had barely allowed Geralt to clean him before he was plucking at the strings with delicate fingers.

To his horror, Geralt easily recognized the tune.

“Jaskier, really-”

“Toss a coin to your Witcher, oh valley of plenty, oh valley of plenty, oooh~” Jaskier sang, dancing, still naked, around Geralt. The Witcher gave an exasperated sigh, but couldn’t quite conceal his smile. It wasn’t his favorite song Jaskier had ever come up with, but the unadulterated joy his mate exuded with every note he sang seemed to radiate off him, quickly charming Geralt.

He could listen to any song in the world, no matter how much he despised it, to see his lark so carefree.

* * *

They’d quickly learned that large cities were no longer an option.

Jaskier did well in villages, and smaller towns. Where the crowds weren’t too big, where the scent was more- _rural,_ but had more fresh air surrounding them. They only stayed in inns when the weather was too unkind to allow them a night under the stars. 

And once, when Geralt had realized that it  _was_ a rather nice inn; the sheets soft and clean, and the mattresses, while no where near as good as the one in the manor, were reasonably soft. 

They’d spent a long, sleepless night on those mattresses. Jaskier had been especially loud that night; so much so, that Geralt had to cover the bards mouth with his hand. After, he’d explained that the kindness Geralt had shown him, the thoughtfulness of spending coin so Jaskier could have a hot bath and a soft place to sleep, had been his undoing.

* * *

“Its done, then?” Yen asked, examining the pile of parchment before her. “This is all of it?” 

“It is.” Istredd nodded, giving her a crooked smile. “Every word, every piece of information. Translated and written down, just as you asked.” 

Yennefer couldn’t help but frown. Eight months it had taken, all in all. Months of following the Sorcerer around from city to city, keeping her head low. 

There it all was. 

She hadn’t read any of it while he’d translated. Not quite afraid of what she’d read, but- weary. Geralt was her friend; the man that had brought her the biggest blessing of her life, in the form of a light haired princess. She’d never admit it out loud, but she wanted him to be  _happy_ . 

If something in this book were to disturb the peace, the  _good_ Geralt had found in his life..

She’d just have to get it over with. She reached out for them, fully ready to confront the information, when Istredd placed his hand on it.

“I’d like you to hold up your end of the bargain, before I hand it over. I’m sure you understand.” 

She did understand. Still, that didn’t mean she had to  _like_ it.

“Hand over the original, and I’ll make arrangements for the rest.” 

* * *

Arrangements, as it turned out, meant gather up Jaskier and Geralt, then portal them to Kaer Morhen. 

Vesemir had bulked at the idea of a stranger in his keep, but Geralt had been adamant. 

If they were to be tricked, they’d have a hard time marching an army up to the keep. There would be no humans that could accidentally catch a peak. And if they had to dispose of a body, well, where better to hide it than here?

So she’d taken them there, then gone to get Istredd. The man had been almost adorably giddy, beaming at her as she appeared to collect him. Like a child on its nameday, knowing it would soon be given the greatest gift of their life. 

It was almost sickening.

* * *

Now, they all stood in the yard of Kaer Morhen, right in front of the large, wooden doors that marked the entrance. 

“ _He’s not setting a single foot into my keep, you hear me?”_

Well, they didn’t need to go inside for this anyway. 

Geralt glanced at Vesemir, then Yen. Finally, he turned to Istredd.

“You understand that you are not to tell anyone about the book, or what you’re about to see. This will go to your grave.”

“Of course.” Istredd nodded eagerly.

“Should it somehow get out, there will be consequences.” Yennefer added airily, as if she was offering the mage a cup of water, not threatening him his murder and possibly worse. 

To Geralts great confusion, all that got out of the man was a smile.

“Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He replied evenly. “But you have my word. No one will find out. Not from me.”

Geralt nodded, then turned to his mate. Jaskier stood tall and unafraid, the pendant resting against his bare chest,  glamour still firmly in place. He placed a hand against his mates hip, squeezed gently. Nuzzled against the bards cheek. 

“Ready?” He asked, not bothering to keep his voice down. Everyone here had the ability to hear him anyway. 

“Yes, my love.” 

Jaskier had only taken the necklace off while in the deepest of the woods, and when his wings had demanded to be spread. Even then, he hadn’t felt safe enough to remain in that form, quickly placing it back around his neck. Some days, Geralt wondered if he missed being in his true form. Geralt knew he missed it, especially the gorgeous black wings. The rustling of the feathers, the sleek feeling when they brushed over his skin.. 

Perhaps, now that they had returned to Kaer Morhen, his mate would allow himself to be free of his human form. 

“Go on then.” 

Geralt stepped back, allowing the bard to step forward. Kept his eyes on Istredd, just in case. 

Jaskier gave him another smile, and then the pendant was lifted off his skin, the necklace pulled over his head. And there he was.

His mate. His gorgeous little lark, in all his glory. 

Gods, Geralt had  _missed_ this. It took great effort to keep his eyes focused on the mage, when all he wanted to do was take in his little lark, greedily drink in what had become a much too rare sight.

Istredd looked like he was in awe. Stared, silently, for what felt like half an eternity.

“Magnificent.” He finally breathed out, taking a step forward. “I saw the picture in the book, I- I read about you, but this is-” 

“Why, thank you.” Jaskier grinned, seeming unperturbed by Istredd stepping closer. Allowed the mage to fawn over him, circling around him to take in his wings, asking questions much like the ones Yen had. 

Geralt frowned. It didn’t exactly raise his hopes that the translation would give them much information. If it did, why would the mage ask?

He watched on, not muttering a word, until Istredd reached out to touch- and no,  _that_ was the limit of what Geralt was prepared to allow.

A split second later, he’d grabbed the mans wrist, squeezing tight enough to leave behind bruises.

“Don’t. Touch.” He growled, lips curled to show his teeth, eyes narrowed. Istredd was startled, but quickly regained his equilibrium. 

“My apologies. I tend to get, ah- swept away by my enthusiasm.” The mage turned his attention to the bard. “I apologize, friend. I should have asked first. I ask your forgiveness.” 

“That’s quite alright.” Jaskier chirped, looking rather pleased. He _liked_ when Geralt was protective of him, and Geralt loved the burst of pride he felt at keeping his lark safe; being a good, strong mate for his omega. “But I don’t think Geralt would like your scent on me much. And I have to admit, I’m rather eager to get my hands on whats in your satchel.” 

“Yes, I imagine you must be.” Istredd nodded, pulling the satchel open to reveal its content. He held it out to Jaskier, only for Yen to take them instead.

“You’ll rip them apart with your claws.” 

Geralt frowned. That was a thick stack of parchment. It would take forever to read through it all. Well, for him at least. Jaskier would no doubt be faster. 

“Perhaps you could give me a summary?” The bard piped up, his question directed at Istredd. “I’m sure Yen would appreciate a chance to go over the information in piece for a while.”

That would work.

“I’d be delighted!” Istredd quickly replied. “What would you like to know?”

“The fundamentals, for now.” Jaskier said, moving to settle onto the ground, legs crossed before him, motioning for Istredd to join him. “What am I? Where do I come from?”

Istredd settled across from the bard, Geralt quickly taking up a spot beside his mate. Still suspiciously eyeing the mage.

“Ah, yes.” Istredd nodded again, took a moment to reply. “In the book, the elves- well. They weren’t exactly _kind_. It seems that your people were simply known as- Savages.” 

“Savages.” Geralt replied, disgusted by the term. 

“Yes. You see, when the elves first arrived, it seems the relationship between the two was friendly. Your people shared their knowledge, their culture, with the elves. It was when the elves tried to return the favor that things became.. difficult. They offered your people their own knowledge. How to build houses and castles. To make fine clothes, to craft instruments and jewelry. All the things they’d been accustomed to from home. But your people refused them.

You see, your people held a strong connection to nature. It wasn’t a religion, not quite; but an ingrained sense of respect towards it. Balance was an important part of their life. So when the elves came to them, asking them to cut down trees and mine out mountains, the idea was abhorrent. They wanted nothing to do with any of it, as the idea to intercede with the path of nature was sacrilege. 

The elves could not understand it. Your kind was smart, easily evolved enough to build their own cities, make their own roads. To refuse to do so made no sense to them.”

“So they decided we were Savages, and what? Started a war against us?” Geralt couldn’t help himself. Jaskier sounded, smelled, so sad. He wrapped an arm around his mate, pulling him into his lap. Nosing against his throat, hoping to convey comfort. 

“It wasn’t quite that simple.” Istredd sighed, brows furrowed. “The elves did not force their ways on your people. They were happy enough to leave things be as they were. Yet, when two cultures, so incredibly different from each other, are forced into the same environment, things become.. difficult.

The elves wished to recreate their home, which meant they needed wood and stone to build it. Your people, aside of their beliefs, were also fiercely protective of their territory. So, when their woods were being felled, their mountains hollowed out.. violence ensued.  But never what we today would call a war. ”

“Why not?” Geralt asked before he could stop himself.

“That is a bit harder to explain. While your- mate, yes? Wonderful.- while your mates people were very much dedicated to their family, too large a group could cause problems. As I’m sure you’re realized, your people possessed what was called a “secondary gender” in the book, most accompanied with a physical trait, and certain characteristics, of which there were three.

Alphas were protective, territorial, rather aggressive towards outsiders. However, ‘outsiders’ didn’t only apply to the elves, but to strangers of their own kind. Two Alphas butting heads often ended in the death of one. 

Then, of course, the Omegas. Most women, from what I gathered, with the odd male here and there. They could carry children, regardless of their gender, with a strong nurturing instinct. The author described them as kind,  and rather gentle. Yet they rivaled an Alphas fury and strength when their young were being threatened. “

“Two covered then.” Vesemir grunted, glancing at Geralt with an accusing glare. 

“You said there was a third?” Jaskier asked, completely ignoring the older man.

“Yes, Betas. They were a middle ground between the two. Not as strong as Alphas, and males were unable to carry children. Not quite as talented with children, or “pups”, as your people called them. 

Now, families lived together, often headed by an Alpha and Omega pair, and their pups. Possibly siblings, and parents, depending on the family. However, should an alpha be born into the family, once they came of age, they left to claim their own territory, find their own mate. ‘Travelers’, they called them. They were permitted to enter territories that weren’t their own, tolerated, but never welcomed. Its how they found their future partners.

Once they had established their territory, they remained there for as long as they were alive. 

Their territories were large enough to avoid meeting other families on accident, or have to fight over resources. They lived side by side, but never in a community. Not as the elves, or humans do. 

Alphas were tasked with protecting their territory, sometimes with the help of adult beta family members. To ask other families to help would have brought not only shame on the Alpha, but might have encouraged a younger, bolder Alpha to challenge them.  In turn, that could lead to the death of their families, their mate and children. It was often too big a risk to face.

Which meant that, when the elves came, with their swords and axes and arrows.. never more than a single family stood in their way to take what they wanted.”

Geralt didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what he would have done, had he been in Jaskiers ancestors shoes. Would he have stood against the elves alone? Would he have taken the shame, be forced to kill young, brash men to prove he still deserved his territory  because of it ?

“So they were killed off, one family after the other.” The bards words came flat, hollow. 

“..It would seem so.” Istredd confirmed quietly. “Even if they had banded together, I doubt your ancestors would have experienced a different fate. Children, pups, were a rare gift. The continent is vast, but each family needed a large portion of it, and were quite long lived. I believe that, in response to past issues, your people evolved to be less, for lack of a better word, fertile. From what the author knew, the mating cycle only happened every 40 to 50 years, and often failed to take.

They simply didn’t have the numbers.” 

Silence stretched between them all. Jaskier had turned his head to nuzzle Geralts hair. His breathing forced into a deep, even rhythm. 

“Did the author mention a soul bond?” Yennefer finally asked. 

“He did indeed.” Seemingly happy for the change in subject, Istredd continued on with a much lighter tone. “It seems that pair found each other through a combination of compatible second genders, and soul magic. When two souls recognized each other, a courting period would take place, and then a bonding ceremony. 

After that, they were capable of reading each others minds, and emotions. They could share their strength, physical and mental, if their mate ever had need of it. They were so closely linked, that when one died, the other soon followed.” 

“They died of a broken heart.” Jaskier whispered, his wings trembling. 

“You said they could read minds and emotions.” Vesemir gruffed. “That isn’t the case with these two. Any idea why?” 

“Hmm.” Istredd hummed quietly, examining Geralt and Jaskier a bit too closely for the Witchers tastes. “It’s possible that, because Jaskier is a hybrid, the connection isn’t as strong. Or- the bonding ceremony. Perhaps it wasn’t done correctly?”

Geralt wanted to growl at that, could already feel the sound rumbling in his chest, only to be shushed by his mate. 

“How would it be done correctly?” The bard asked, curious. “And since I’m asking questions, what exactly does “long lived” translate to in years?”

“The oldest on record, according to the author, had just turned 900 years old when the elves arrived.” Istredd answered, pleasantly. “As for the ceremony, it didn’t go into detail too much but I can tell you what I know. It usually takes place during mating cycles. They exchanged mating bites. For example, if the omega went reached its cycle first, the Alpha would mark them during it. Then, when the Alpha went into his cycle, the omega would return the bite. They weren’t considered bonded until that happened. If only one had a mark, it was more akin to what we would know as an engagement.

It takes both marks to form the full bond.”

“Alphas have cycles too, then.” Vesemir grunted. “Is there any record of elves and.. Jaskiers people mating? How it affected them?” 

Thank the gods for Vesemir. Geralt was feeling too raw with all the information he’d been given. He held Jaskier to him just a bit tighter. 

“Only one, and there wasn’t much information on it. The author noted that an Alpha had found its mate with a young elven woman, soon after they arrived. She had been given a bonding bite by the Alpha, outside of his cycle. Neither of them expected much to happen, until she showed signs of a mating cycle. Reportedly, their bond could be completed during the Alphas cycle. That is, unfortunately, all that was written about it.” 

Geralt grunted. That meant it was likely he’d have a cycle himself, at some point. The knot wasn’t the only change. His mind was spinning, crammed full with a thousand other questions, and thoughts about the answers they’d been given so far. 

He felt the beginning of a headache forming at the base of his skull. 

“I- You’ve been. Very helpful, Istredd. Thank you.” Jaskier spoke carefully, as if keeping his voice steady took real effort. “I think, if it doesn’t bother you, that I need some time to- digest what you’ve told me. I know it would be an inconvenience, but-”

“Take as much time as you need.” Istredd interrupted, lips curled in a kind, understanding smile. “I can’t begin to understand how overwhelming this must be.”

“I can portal you back.” Yen said, rising from her seat on the stairs leading to the keeps doors. “Bring you back in the morning.” 

“He stays.” Geralt growled out, much to everyone's surprise. “Want to keep an eye on him, until we know everything.” 

“We already have the damn translation.” Vesemir gruffed, clearly unhappy with the white wolfs decision. “What do we need him for?”

Geralt felt a surge of anger at being questioned. This was about  _his_ mate, his safety. Letting Istredd go was a risk. Now that he’d seen Jaskier, perhaps he’d go back on his promise, greedy for the recognition he’d gain from exposing them-

It gave him a hint of what issues two Alphas vying for dominance could bring.

Taking a moment to school his features, to shove away the rage, and remind himself that this was Vesemir. He wasn’t a rival, or a threat. 

“Want to keep my eye on him, just in case.” 

Vesemir looked like he’d just been forced to down the most vile of potions, but he didn’t protest a second time. 

The sorcerer was staying the night.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first off. I am so sorry it took this long to update. I honestly was not having an easy time deciding how I wanted to end this. There was so much more I could have written in that I'd come up with, but every draft I wrote involving all the information just turned out incredibly boring (at least to me). I took some time to mull it over, and eventually decided that this story had reached its end. I had so much fun writing it, and I loved reading your guys reaction to what I'd come up with, but eventually, everything comes to a natural end. I decided to leave things with a sweet, happy ending; one that leaves room for you guys to decide on your own head canon on what came next! I do hope you like what I've written down.
> 
> Secondly: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH. Every comment, every kudos left behind, made my day. I can't believe the amounts of support you gave me, that pushed me to keep this story going, even when I myself didn't think it was good enough to justify more chapters. Your kind words, encouragment, it all helped me reach this very point we find ourselves at now. So again, because I cannot say it enough: Thank you to every single person that stuck with this story. You are dearly appreciated and I will never forget what a wonderful experience this was! 
> 
> That being said. Please enjoy the final chapter of: The Beauty of Stars. 
> 
> Much love,  
> Akikofuma

Istredd was given a room close to Vesemirs, by the old mans request.

“Gods knows you two won’t hear anything once you get going.” Geralt couldn’t quite stop himself from baring his teeth at the implication. He was still a Witcher, damn it, insatiable sex drive or not. Not that he thought they’d have sex; Jaskier had been quiet ever since they’d walked into the keep, no doubt pondering on all the information he’d just taken in.

They parted ways for the night, Yen taking up residence in the guest room, while Jaskier and Geralt once again shared the Witchers room.

Not a word was spoken between them; communicating silently with glances and body language. His mate looked- _haunted_.

Haunted by a past he hadn’t experienced, yet suffering because of it all the same. Geralt knew what it felt like. Losing so many of his own people when Kaer Morhen had been sacked.. He wished desperately to take away the bards pain, fully aware that it was impossible. Time would heal the wounds until they scarred over.

Jaskier sat on their bed while Geralt washed off, dipping a strip of cloth into the cold water before running it along his skin. When the bards turn came, Geralt simply shook his head.

_Let me take care of you._

His mate immediately stilled, allowing his Alpha to undress him with gentle hands and soft caresses. Geralt worked slowly, thoroughly. They’d have a real bath tomorrow, but for now, this would do. 

It was fortunate that Jaskier no longer minded freezing water; he didn’t flinch a single time as the cloth made contact with his skin. 

_You’re marvelous._

Geralt looked up to find blue eyes watching him fondly, lush lips curled into a grateful smile. It warmed his heart, to see a smile on his omegas lips, even after a day as difficult as the one they’d just had. 

Fire lit, they settled into bed. 

Geralt on his back, finally getting another chance to sleep with his mates wing draped across him. It had been too fucking long since they’d done this, since Jaskier had been able to show his true form. Geralt vowed to find a way to change that. His beautiful lark deserved to fly free. 

Curled against him, their legs entwined, Geralt held his love tight against his side.

_I’m here. You’re not alone._

Jaskier gave a happy sigh, nuzzling his nose against the Witchers chest, and drifted off to sleep. 

* * *

“There’s a lot of detail in this.” Yen said, patting the pile of parchment before here. “Not all interesting, if I’m being honest.”

“What _is_ interesting to then, oh powerful sorceress?” 

Geralt had woken early, only to find that his mate had already been up, watching him sleep. Delicate fingers ending in sharp claws had grazed along his skin in small, unpredictable patterns. Like his chest was becoming an invisible painting, one only Jaskier could see. 

He’d longed to stay in bed, ignore the world around them, and the new information they were about to learn when they met for breakfast. Yen had probably read through the entire book during the night; greedy as she was for information. 

Still.

Jaskier looked so happy here, smelled happy; wrapped safe and warm in his Alphas arms. He didn’t want his mate to be upset. Didn’t want to see that pretty face darken with pain and frustration. Alas, he had no choice. Once the white wolf had woken, Jaskier was eager to get out of bed and start the day.

“Hmm, lets see.. Ah, yes. You remember telling me you were uncomfortable with having your wings touched?” Geralt and Jaskier nodded. “Turns out that’s not a you-thing. Grooming anothers wings was strictly for mates, or close family. Parents, siblings, if there were any. Your people relied quite heavily on the ability to fly while they hunted, or fought each other. To snap one, even with your fast healing, was a major hindrance to day-to-day life.” 

“That makes sense then. Its instinctual, protecting a vulnerable body part.” Geralt hummed, already feeling more protective of the bards feathered appendages. “Like wolfs protecting their throat.”

“Indeed.” Yen replied. “Another interesting little fact. Omegas often licked the wounds of their family members. Apparently it helped the healing process. A perk of being an omega.” 

“So.. if I lick Geralts wounds, they’ll heal faster?” Jaskier asked, tilting his head to the side. 

“Maybe? You’re half human, and while Geralts body is changing, there’s no way of knowing what will carry over, and what won’t. You’ll just have to find out by trial and error.” 

“Wonderful.” Jaskier huffed, pouting lightly. “Another thing we’re going to have to figure out on our own.”

Geralt hated the obvious displeasure of his mate, gently coaxing the omega onto his lap, arms winding around the Witchers neck once the bard was settled. He stole a short, sweet kiss from his omega, then moved to nuzzle against that delicate neck.

“We have time.” He reminded the bard, inhaling his scent as deeply as his lungs would allow. “We’ll figure it out.” 

The door swung open, and there stood Istredd. He look just as he had the day before; smartly dressed, with an ever present smile on his lips.

“Good morning.” He greeted, ignoring Vesemirs huff. “I hope everyone slept well.”

Geralt wanted to roll his eyes. The mage was too friendly by far for the Witchers standards. Handsome and smiling the whole damn day, like he knew nothing of the hardship of life. He didn’t like to judge, he knew looks could be deceiving. There was just something about Istredd that rubbed him the wrong way.

“We slept well.” Jaskier replied, the only one of their group to speak. “I hope you did as well?”

“I cannot complain.” The mage replied pleasantly. Istredd joined them at the table, glancing at Jaskier. “Would it be too forward of me to ask for food?”

Geralt wanted to grunt  _Yes_ . 

Jaskier, seemingly able to read the Witchers mind, completed bond or not, elbowed Geralt in the side before he could speak.

“Not at all, please! Eat as much as you like.” Vesemir glared at Geralt, as if to say _Since when is your bard the boss in this keep?_

Geralt gave the tiniest of shrugs. He wasn’t going to argue with his mate over been kind enough to share their food, not when they had more than enough to share. 

“Thank you. I do appreciate it.” They ate in silence, Vesemir eventually slinking off to tend to something or another. Geralt didn’t particularly care where he went. Let the man sulk if that’s what he wanted. 

He understood the impulse to throw the mage out of the keep, of course. He was a stranger, an intruder. Not welcome in his territory, yet Geralt still had to tolerate him, for his omegas sake. 

“I do have a question, actually.” Jaskier finally spoke up, turning his attention to Yen and Istredd. “Do you think- Is it possible that my mother, or father, are still out there? Alive, in hiding?”

Yen pursed her lips. Istredds smile turned sad.

“Oh.” Jaskier breathed. 

“I’m sorry, Jaskier.” Istredd said, reaching out to place a hand against the bards shoulder, but quickly thinking better of it at Geralts murderous glare. To his credit, it didn’t seem to unsettle him as much as Geralt would have liked. “With how protective your kind is of their young.. Alpha, Beta, or omega, if they had survived, they wouldn’t have let you out of their sight. Likely have raised you to know what you are, teach you their- ways. Your history.”

“Its not your fault.” The bard muttered, clearly dejected. It was too much for Geralt to stand. He stood, his mate still in his arms, surprising a little gasp out of him. “Geralt?”

“Taking a bath.” Geralt grunted, turning his back on sorcerer and sorceress. “Keep an eye on him, Yen.”

“I will. There’s a few things still I’d like to discuss. Theories, mostly.” Violet eyes turned towards Istredd. “After that, I can portal him out. Unless you have any more questions for him?”

Geralt glanced at Jaskier, who shook his head.

“The translation is fine.” Geralt replied, quickly striding towards their room.

“Thank you Istredd!” Jaskier called over his shoulder, waving goodbye to the mage with a clawed hand. “Please don’t betray us! I’d hate to see you dead!” 

* * *

Geralt and Jaskier remained at the keep. Neither of them was willing to go back out into the world, not while they carried the translated book. It held too much information, was too precious to lose. Geralt had nightmares about someone finding and taking it from them; dreamed of his omega, hunted and dying, struggling to move through the woods, wings broken and torn. He’d wake in a cold sweat, shaking as he desperately ran his fingers along every inch of his beautiful mate; it was the only way to gentle and reassure himself enough to go back to sleep.

Jaskier had read to Geralt aloud in the evenings, never more than a few pages, so neither of them would be overwhelmed. There was so much to take in, so much to know, it seemed impossible to Geralt to remember it all. Some things were interesting, while others were rather boring; whether they already knew about it, or because it had little to do with Jaskiers people, and more with the elves that had eventually been their doom. The views expressed in writing, at times, caused Geralt to feel such rage, he’d happily have thrown the damn thing out the highest window in the keep, burn it in their hearth; watch the ink fade along with the hatefulness jotted down in it.

His omega, as always, took everything in stride. 

He felt the same emotions, but was so much more practiced handling them, it was often Geralt being comforted in his stead. He’d have felt guilty, if not for his omegas ever present smile, the scent of his happiness, whenever he was allowed to tend to Geralt in any way possible. 

As snow began to fall, Geralt felt excitement well up inside him. 

It was winter. 

Winter meant his family would reunite. 

_If_ they had all survived. 

Excitement was soon joined by anxiety; every day that passed without his brothers showing up on the mountain path, the more anxious Geralt became. Jaskier was, once again, his saving grace. 

Always knowing what the Alpha needed, be it time alone, or holding each other in the nest that smelled like them; or, much to Vesemirs dismay, multiple orgasms on both sides.  His bard alone kept him from crawling out of his skin. 

* * *

Lambert arrived first. 

They had discussed the possibility of Jaskier taking on his human form, just for the first few weeks. Ease the other Witchers into his presence. Jaskier had been amicable to the suggestion, but Geralt had adamantly opposed the idea. 

Jaskier had to hide too much as it was. Geralt wouldn’t force him to in their own home. 

“What the fuck is it?” Lambert snapped, eyes narrowed as he moved to his sword. Before he could grab hold of it, however, Geralt had already crossed the distance between them, grabbing Lamberts arm so hard he’d surely leave bruises behind. 

“He’s mine.” Geralt growled, lips curled back to show off his own set of fangs. “Lay a finger on him, Lambert, and I swear it’ll be the last time you have fingers.” 

“Oookay, that’s enough out of you!” Jaskier chimed in, quickly joining them, wiggling himself between the two. Geralt was furious, about to grab his omegas neck and force him away, when a wing collided rather forcefully with the back of his knee, causing him to lose his balance. “No. Bad Alpha. Don’t give me that look! He’s your brother, you brute, he won’t hurt me. Shoo now. Let us talk.” 

* * *

Eskel arrived a week later, with a completely different reaction. 

He politely asked who Jaskier was, nodding along as the bard (still fond of telling stories) launched into a full account of who, and what, he was. How they’d reconnected, and became mates. His brother had welcomed Jaskier with open arms, and before Geralt knew it, the two of them had become friends. 

Lambert was his prickly self; always a bit of an ass even on good days. The youngest Witcher took some convincing, but alas, no one could resist his omegas natural charm. Eventually, they had all grown accustomed to the new presence in their home.

* * *

Their wedding ceremony was simple. 

At the end of winter, with Yen and Ciri beside them, Geralts brothers and father sat before them, they promised their life, and their heart, to each other; until the end of time.

Jaskier had written vows, beautifully worded and filled with emotions. Geralt had caught the tears in Ciri’s eyes, and surprisingly, Lamberts; no matter how vigorously they attempted to rub them away before anyone caught them being sentimental. The Witcher couldn’t express in a hundred years how happy he’d been in that moment. Not in a hundred years.

Geralt hadn’t bothered with vows. Nothing he could come up with would ever compare to his mates, and he’d never been a man of words. So when his time came, he simply leaned forward,  pressing a kiss against the scars he’d left on Jaskiers neck so long ago.

“I love you.” He rumbled into his ear, nipping it playfully when Jaskier chuckled, wings spreading wide with joy. 

“I love you too, Alpha.” Jaskier whispered, nuzzling against Geralts cheek. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together. All of us.” 

* * *

The next morning, Geralt was greeted with a mixture of annoyed and highly embarrassed faces. Their wedding night had by no means been quiet; and after all they’d been through to get to this point, Geralt refused to feel ashamed for being-  _enthusiastic_ . What husband wouldn’t be, when faced with such a perfecting being as Jaskier?

Silence settled on the group as they ate. 

Ciri and Eskel avoided eye contact, cheeks blushing. Yen looked pissed off, probably from lack of sleep. Vesemir couldn’t stop throwing glares at the newly weds. 

“So.” Lambert started casually. “Are we all expected to call you Alpha now or is that just for the ones riding your ‘huge fucking knot’, because-” 

Vesemir slapped Lambert on the back of the head.

Silence. A giggle from his mate as Geralt blinked, processing. Ciri joining in, chuckling quietly. And then, suddenly, they all broke out into laughter. 

Geralt huffed, somehow amused and annoyed at the same time. 

This was his family. This was his home. 

He couldn’t have imagined a better, happier life if he tried. 

And so, they lived happily ever after. 


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I felt bad about hinting at Geralts own cycle, but never actually writing it. This will be a little Coda, just to cover it for those of you that wanted to read it <3

Geralt felt- _wrong_.

He had since they’d begun their hike up the mountain. One day, he’d been fine; curled up against Jaskiers, regrettably wingless, back. Rumbling with delight.

The next morning, he’d woken up irritated, nervous. His skin felt too tight, oversensitive; the fabric of his tunic and pants quickly becoming irritating. He wanted to rip them off his body, shred them, and never put them on again.

Seeing as they were about to make the climb to Kaer Morhen, that thought was ridiculous. Witcher or not, he’d need their protecting, on top of the heavy cloak he wore. Jaskier had given him a funny look, pretty nose wrinkling as Geralt was sniffed.

“You smell off.” Jaskier had said, tilting his head to the side as he gazed at his mate. “Are you alright?”

“Eager to be home.” Geralt had rumbled in reply. Whatever he was feeling, he had to shake it off. The journey was far from easy; perhaps they’d waited just a bit too long before heading towards the keep this year. The snow was already starting to blanket the ground.

That had to be it. Winter was getting closer, and his mate was yet to be tucked away in their nest, warm and safe. Geralt just wanted to get his omega _home_.

“Alright..” Jaskier hummed, thoughtfully raking his eyes over the Witchers form. “If you’re sure.”

Geralt grunted.

* * *

“Soundproofed your room.” Vesemir greeted them at the gate, brows knit together with annoyance. “Yennefer put some spells up, said we should all be able to sleep through the night this year.”

Normally, Geralt would have been amused. Perhaps even chuckled, allowing himself to relax his control, now that they had made it home. Winter was their time to decompress, to enjoy life, unconcerned by the frigid temperatures outside the solid stone walls.

Instead, the very idea of having someone in their bedroom, their bed; it irked him. Made his lips twitch with the need to growl out a reprimand.

How dare they enter without his _permission,_ make changes to _their_ den without talking to Geralt first? It was disrespectful, a slight against him, against his _mate_. Geralt was going to teach them a lesson, fuck his songbird in the main hall, force them all to watch, to witness how well he took care of his mate, hear every moan, ever sigh he pulled from lush lips-

“Geralt.” Jaskier elbowed him gently in the side, startling Geralt out of his thoughts. “We should go inside, Alpha.”

“Hmm.” Geralt hummed, jerking his chin towards the keep. “Go on. I’ll take care of Roach.”

He just needed a few minutes to himself, to understand what had gotten into him. Yes, Geralt had become more territorial over the last few years, but all things considered, he’d expected that. This was still Vesemirs keeps, he’d never try to change that, never _wanted_ to.

So maybe he’d gone over the older Witchers head once, when he made the call that Istredd would stay. But that had been once, an exception to the rule. So why was he so bothered by the idea of Vesemir entering their room?

He was just tired, he told himself. The trek had been long and arduous, his need to get Jaskier back to their den burning in his veins. A good nights rest, and he’d be fine.

* * *

The first hint he got that, perhaps, he wasn’t fine didn’t take long to present itself.

Jaskier was a tactile creature, and by now, their little family had grown impossibly close. Yen and Ciri had taken to spending their winters at Kaer Morhen as well, allowing them all a season of almost normal family life.

It had never bothered Geralt before, his songbird patting Eskels shoulder in a friendly manner, or playfully slapping his wings into Lamberts face when the youngest Witcher became a bit too rowdy. They were brothers by law now, in a way. Some teasing and roughhousing was to be expected.

Eskel had arrived last this years, a day after Geralt and Jaskier. Visibly exhausted, the black haired Witcher had dragged himself into the main hall, pack and swords sliding off his broad shoulder. Eskel seemed too tired to care.

Jaskier, his sweet omega, had taken it upon himself to rush over and help; wrapping his arm around Eskels hip to keep him up, allowing the man to rest against his side, head lolling onto the bards shoulder.

_Wrong._

Geralt moved forwards, taking hold of Eskel himself, supporting his brother against his own body.

“Grab his things.” He grunted, glancing at his mate. “Have Lambert bring up some hot water. I’ll take care of him.”

* * *

Later that night, with Jaskier sleeping on top of him, sated and happy, Geralt felt a crushing self-loathing. He’d have helped Eskel no matter what, of course he would have. Witchers looked after their own. That’s not what had happened, though.

Geralt had seen his omega in another mans arm (another Alpha, his mind unhelpfully added), and he’d just been able to control his rage. It hadn’t mattered that Eskel was his brother, would never take Jaskier away from him; didn’t matter that he was distressed, weak. In that split moment, it hadn’t been worry for Eskel that had made him move.

It had been jealousy. Possessiveness.

His skin crawled with the realization, made him grit his teeth in disgust. Why was this happening? When had he become this- this crazed beast? It couldn’t be blamed on their bond, after so many years. The changes, for there had been some, had been smaller; less violent. He’d never wanted to hurt anyone over simple physical contact with his mate.

“Geralt?” Jaskier slurred, still half asleep, audibly sniffing his Alpha. “’s wrong?”

“Nightmare.” Geralt lied, trusting that Jaskier wouldn’t question him in his current state. “Just a nightmare. Go back to sleep, songbird. I’m alright.”

Jaskier huffed, his wings flapping a bit in displeasure.

“Wake me if you have n’another one?” The bard mumbled, nuzzling into Geralts neck.

“I promise.”

He didn’t like lying to his omega, his chest churning as his songbird, oblivious, fell back asleep. But what if Geralt told Jaskier the truth, admit to him what had gone on in his head, and Jaskier, horrified of the mindless, uncaring brute the Witcher had turned it, decided _Eskel_ might be the better Alpha after all-

Geralt forced himself to relax. Jaskier loved him. Had proven it, time and time again; long before the Witcher himself had even been willing to admit his feelings. He had nothing to worry about.

He just had to get a hold of himself.

* * *

“You’re acting weird.” Lambert said, still chewing on his dinner. “What’s crawled up your ass?”

Geralt gave an irritated grunt, not at all in the mood for teasing.

“Your little lark not putting out? You piss him off?” Lambert continued, ignoring the blue eyes glaring at him. He’d never met a limit he didn’t enjoy pushing. “Bite too hard? Pull his hair too hard? Ooh, did you pull out one of his pretty feathers~”

As Lambert spoke of them, he reached out towards one wing, brushing the very tips of his fingers against a feather-

Something in Geralts mind short-circuited.

Lamberts throat felt small, inconsequential under his broad hand. Laughably easy to crush. It would barely take any strength at all.

“Geralt!” Jaskier jumped into action, wrapping himself around Geralts back, strong arms coming around his chest, and squeezed. “Alpha, stop! What are you doing?!”

Geralt growled. He was putting down a competitor, a challenger; laid him out on his back with his stomach exposed, his throat in Geralts hand, an easy kill if he chose to end this in blood. No one was going to take his omega, his territory, from him. No one at all.

“Alpha!” The poet whined, once more yanking at the Witchers solid form. “Alpha please, he didn’t mean anything by it, he was joking, please, _please_ let him go.”

A mixture of scents hit the white wolf then; salt, likely from tears. Fear, from more than a single source. Geralt slowly turned his head to take in his surroundings.

Yen, Ves, Eskel and Ciri stood around them, their expressions ranging from worried to confused, to downright alarmed. Something beneath him writhed.

Geralt looked down, realization slowly creeping over him.

He’d pinned Lambert to the ground, had probably been growling, snarling at him for the past- however long had passed since Lambert had reached out. The grip on the younger Witchers throat wasn’t bruising, not quite; yet it left no doubt who was in control here.

“I’m sorry.” He rasped, pulling back like he’d been bitten by a venomous snake. “I’m sorry Lambert, I don’t- don’t know what happened, I-”

Lambert scrambled to his feet, eyes narrowed, looking like he’d very much like to return the favor, gold eyes burning with rage. None of them liked being thrown down into the dirt, but to be put on their back, like prey, made it even worse.

Geralt would have let Lambert do his worst; he deserved it, for attacking him in the first place. Wouldn’t lift a finger to defend himself against the raven haired man.

“Alpha.” Jaskier breathed, tugging the Witcher up from his knees and onto his feet. “Take me to our nest.”

Jaskier must have lost his mind. Why would he want that, after what he’d just witnessed? Geralt had behaved monstrous, had gone against his own _brother_ -

“Please, Alpha?” The bard coaxed, wings fluttering enticingly.

Geralt gave a sharp nod. He didn’t understand what was happening, but his lark was calling him, and Geralt would follow.

* * *

“You’re an idiot.” Yen snipped, hands at her hips as she glared at Geralt, keeping a safe distance between them. “Really Geralt, why wouldn’t you tell anyone that you were having your cycle?”

Geralt blinked.

Jaskier had gently tugged him along into their den, sat him down at the edge of the bed. Not inside their nest, but still touching one of the many blankets they had used to form it. Yen had followed not far behind.

Thinking back to how he’d felt, it all made sense. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

“Didn’t know.” He huffed, finding it rather difficult to focus on the sorceress with his mate in his lap, nuzzling against his neck. “Is Lambert- is he alright?”

“He’s probably furious, but you didn’t hurt him.” She dismissed, rolling her eyes at the way Jaskier cooed. “Its probably best if you two don’t leave this room unless you absolutely have to. Your scent might not have changed yet, but..” She motioned towards Jaskier, seemingly happy to ignore any words spoken, running his hands along Geralts chest soothingly. “I don’t think it’ll take long.”

Geralt hummed his agreement. His skin burned hotter now, brighter, somehow. The shock of what he’d done leaving his mind clear, sharp. The more time he spent with Jaskier touching him, however, the more his thoughts seemed to grow muggy, disjointed.

“We’ll leave food and water outside the door. Try not to break anything.” The door fell shut behind her, her scent still hanging in the air. It didn’t matter. Soon, the only thing their den would smell of was them, and sex.

“Alpha.” Jaskier mewed, tugging at the black shirt keeping him from touching bare skin.

Geralt rumbled, grabbing at rational thought while he still could. His cycle was upon them. If it was anything like the omegas, soon, they wouldn’t have time to rest. He was grateful they’d managed to have dinner before he’d lost it. At least neither of them would starve.

Pulling Jaskier into their nest, he manhandled the bard to rest on his chest, legs entwined.

“Sleep.” Geralt commanded, though he spoke softly. _We can fuck soon,_ went unsaid. 

* * *

Geralt woke with such intense need, he thought he was going to combust. He was sweating, trembling, his skin crawling with desire. All he could think about was his mate, his omega. He needed Jaskier, would  _die_ without him. Panicking, Geralt wrenched his eyes open, hands shooting out to grab at something, anything, to ground himself. 

Thankfully, Jaskier wasn’t far. The bard gave a keen beside him, jolting awake at the Alphas distressed growl. Grabbling for each other, sheets wrapping, tangling around their legs in their haste to touch each other. 

Geralt cock was already aching hard, his knot swelling with each beat of his heart. Too soon, it was too fucking soon, Jaskier had just woken up, there was no way he’d be slick enough yet to take Geralts cock, to be tied together-

“Breed me, Alpha.” Jaskier mewled, right against Geralts lips as they finally, _finally_ found together for a kiss. “Please, _please_ give me your pups.”

Geralt was lost.

His mate was on his knees a second later, pretty pert ass on display for Geralt, and Geralt alone. His omega was perfect, somehow already slick enough to cover his thighs, dripping onto the sheets, much like he had during his heat. 

“Good.” Geralt growled, haphazardly petting at the omegas wings, much too focused on that pink little opening, twitching and eager to swallow his cock whole. Geralt could almost feel the rippling muscles milking him already, pulling him in deep, as deep as he can go, to plant his seed deep into his omegas womb until it caught. 

“Please!” Jaskier begged, spreading his wings and legs, an obscene invitation if Geralt had ever seen one. Who was he to resist?

A single, harsh thrust had him buried deep, howling his pleasure as his knot just slipped inside, his omega so wet, so fucking perfect, taking him whole in one go. Rumbling deep in his chest, Geralt wasted no time. 

Pounding Jaskier wasn’t a conscious decision, not something Geralt thought about. Lead by instinct, he plunged his cock into the willing body below him, obscene squelching sounds filling the room. They were filthy only minutes into their first coupling; sweat mixing with slick and precome as Geralt took what was his.  Couldn’t stop watching the way that small hole spread open around the tip of his cock, to the desperate noises his omega made when he pulled back just far enough to almost slip out, thrusting back against him, desperate to be filled.

J askier was a vision of debauchery, of need and lust; a sirens call the Witcher could not ignore. Much sooner than usual, Geralt felt his peak growing close, his balls feeling much too heavy, much too full, urging him to fuck harder, faster, until finally- his knot caught on the omegas rim, tying them together; Geralt  _roared_ . 

He couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t stop  _humping_ ; each thrust of his hips, however small, accompanied by another spurt of seed, another shiver along his spine. He came and  _came_ , his orgasm going on forever, beyond what he thought possible, even with the changes his body had undergone.  It just wouldn’t fucking  _stop_ , until Geralt almost collapsed, twitching from over stimulation as Jaskier answered each thrust with a clench of muscles, sucking him dry. 

P anting hard, Geralt fumbled for his mates cock, meaning to jerk him to completion, only to be met with a slickness that could only mean one thing. His omega had come, untouched. Growling his approval, the Witcher laid them on their sides, shivering as his cock gave a few more, feeble twitches before finally, he was done. 

Geralt nuzzled the bards neck, rubbed his nose along the sweaty brown locks, inhaling his omegas scent, black wings catching his attention as they fluttered. He was exhausted, run dry, barely managing to weakly tug at feathers, the way Jaskier enjoyed. His lark cooed, seemingly appeased, and Geralt drops his hand to the others side, sluggishly stroking along the skin. 

Dimly, Geralt wondered if they’d have a chance to take a bath before the next wave hit. They could both certainly do with a good scrub- his hand slipped forward, downward, until the tips of his fingers came into contact with what  _should_ have been the flat plain of his omegas stomach except- it was small, barely the there, but.. Jaskier stomach had swollen, grown round, ever so slightly-…  Geralt groaned, the ache in his balls returning full force as his hips uselessly snapped forward. They were already tied, there was no way to go deeper, to get closer;  and yet Geralt was determined to  _try_ .

R olling the bard back onto his stomach, laying heavily ontop of him, Geralt thrust as much as he could, pulling back less than an inch before his knot strained at the omegas rim, forcing him to push back in. 

All exhaustion forgotten, Geralt kept humping, grinding, desperate to come again, to fill his omega further, make that bump grow larger; like he really  _was_ pregnant, carrying Geralts pup within, rounding the beautiful larks stomach as their babe grew within. So all consuming was his need, he couldn’t even feel the burning of his muscles, the strain put on his body by his enthusiastic mating.  Jaskier, at least, did not seem upset. 

If anything, the poet seemed ecstatic, urging Geralt on with moans and whimpers so sweet, Geralt thought he might lose his mind; get stuck in this animalistic state for the rest of his life,  and continue to fuck Jaskier full of his seed every night.  His second peak built fast, and before he knew it, Geralt was coming  _again_ . 

He didn’t wait until he finished this time, rolling them onto their sides once more, broad hand pressed against the bards stomach, feeling it slowly expand with each jerk of his cock. This was it, he thought deliriously; His omega was going to be the death of him.

But oh, what a wonderful death it would be.


End file.
